


Horrors

by GretchenMaurice



Category: Wicked, Wicked - All Media Types
Genre: (at long last), Magic, Minor substance abuse, Violence, glinda goes mad with grief, i forgot how to use AO3 so this might have to be updated later, not happy things, oh and a little bit of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2020-12-01 20:56:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 51,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20896754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GretchenMaurice/pseuds/GretchenMaurice
Summary: “You feared me so much, when you first came here.”Glinda nearly laughs. She turns her back on him and leaves the way she came. Not fearing him, not fearing the guards, not fearing anything.“Of course I did,” she says. “I had something to lose, then.”





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god I'm finally posting this. It's the Glinda goes mad with grief fic! It's not a happy story! Here's your warning for violence and mental illness, and if you want to know anything about more specific content warnings absolutely feel free to message me. Enjoy! <3

_The mystery is, you can eat fear_

_before fear eats you,_

_you can live beyond dying—_

_and become a queen_

_whom nothing surprises._

Rita Frances Dove, “The Narcissus Flower”

\---

Among all other things, this Dorothy girl brings hope.

It’s the first thing Glinda sees in her, and maybe that’s why she grants her the shoes and sends her on her way. She brings a new era in a world that always seems to be changing for the worse, and Glinda feels it.

By the time she thinks of Elphaba, it’s too late. But it’ll be fine. She tells herself, in words that she just couldn’t form around Elphie—that this is for the better. Dorothy brings hope, the one thing the Wizard can’t control. Those he oppresses are renewed. The Munchkinlanders see Dorothy first. They feel as though they’ve been chosen. The Animals are accepted by her; they see one of their own travelling at her side. Suddenly, the Wizard’s influence has vanished. Already there is talk of him stepping down.

Who will replace him? There is talk of that, too. It reaches her first at a party, just a bit of gossip from wine-loosened lips. But then she hears it in the halls of her own estate, whispered by the servants, and suddenly it’s something real. They’re excited. Chuffrey is proud, if not a touch jealous.

And Glinda? She’s determined. She feels her own version of the hope Dorothy has brought.

Glinda sits at the writing desk, her chair angled just slightly to face the western window, the sun beaming in. Chuffrey is in his office, and afternoon tea has already been served, so she feels safe pulling out the locked wooden box that’s tucked at the bottom of the middle drawer. She passes her hand over the lock, hears the gentle sigh of magic and the quiet click, then eases the lid open. Inside is the parchment and ink she bought herself, resting on top of dozens of letters she has never sent.

She pulls out a fresh page and addresses it the same way she has all the others. _Elphie_, she writes at the top, admiring the way each letter swirls into the next, adding a touch more flair to the final _e_, the way she wrote in their school days.

She pauses, ink dripping from the pen and onto the page. It has to be perfect, each word chosen with care, if Elphaba is to be persuaded. But there’s too much to say. Too much between them now. How to explain, to apologize for giving away Nessa’s shoes? How to tell her what has happened, what the people are saying will happen, and what Glinda is proposing? How will she send this, anyway? Will she even need to? Once the Dorothy girl reaches her, once she hears the Wizard is leaving, will Elphaba return to the city? Return to what she originally started?

Glinda presses her pen against the parchment, then lifts it again. Phrases like _our chance_ and _after all these years _and _how you dreamed _drift through her mind, but she doesn’t dare write them. Elphaba was never the optimist. She would only scoff, cast Glinda aside, and that’s something Glinda knows she can’t face. Not again.

She wants to tell Elphaba to be patient. To wait, and watch, and listen. Patience was never her strength, but Glinda thinks that this time might be different. Maybe she should ask for help. Elphie had always come to her when she asked for help.

For once, Glinda feels in control. She knows what will happen. If she can just get Elphaba to come to her, come and be patient, then everything they want will happen. If the Wizard really does leave, and Glinda takes over—if she can harness the hope Dorothy has brought, turn it into a movement…

_You’ll have to lay low for a while, _Glinda thinks, making a mental note to write it later in the letter. But eventually, maybe…

Galinda always got what she wanted. It’s a feeling Glinda hasn’t had in years, but she hasn’t forgotten. She’s certain, now, of what will happen. What they can do.

There was a time when she believed in Elphaba, believed in the two of them together. She hasn’t forgotten that feeling, either.

And suddenly, she knows what to write. She places her pen back to the paper with a smile. The ink flows smoothly, her letters flawless. Everything is finally falling into place.

-

They say the Witch is going to die. They say that’s why the Wizard sent Dorothy.

Glinda pays the rumors no mind. Perhaps the Wizard wants Elphaba dead—does he remember them, from all those years ago?—but the idea is laughable. Elphaba’s survived the marshy Quadling lands, a campus haunted by Morrible, and the filthy, shadowed streets of the Emerald City. The Wizard will have to do much better than a little farm girl if he wants her gone.

But maybe it’s better this way. Maybe her letter will reach Elphaba first, and she’ll think of a way around the Dorothy girl. Glinda imagines different scenarios, reveling at the cloak and dagger of it all. A faked death, perhaps? The new ruler of Oz reuniting with a criminal. It excites her, and not just because she’ll finally get to see Elphie again.

Without meaning to, she finds herself wholly tied to the prospect of being with Elphaba once more. Years of separation have taught her wariness, but now there is no doubt in her mind. And why should there be? They were reunited in Munchkinland. And though they left on such bad terms, they had also been able to pick up again so flawlessly. Glinda remembers the thrill, the bliss, the hope. It was a sign of things to come. She’s certain of it.

But she’s smart enough not to let it show. After she sends her letter, she finds herself waiting. Her life carries on mostly normally, but she notices the small details that are changing. More politicians are showing up at the dinner parties she’s invited to. A sorceress from the palace extends an invitation to meet for tea.

“We should do the same,” Chuffrey says one evening over his nightly brandy. “Host a dinner, invite over all these new friends you’re making.”

There’s a touch of bitterness in his voice. She’s amused by his jealousy—as if she were ever his in the first place.

But it’s a good idea nonetheless, and so she sends servants out with handwritten invitations for all of the city’s finest: palace officials and Gale Force officers, heads of estate and bank owners. She even invites Madame Morrible, just to be cheeky. She knows the old woman can barely make it out of her bed these days.

She doesn’t particularly like hosting, but she knows she’s good at it. Her smile is dazzling as each guest is ushered in. Men bow low and kiss her hand, while ladies dote over her dress, her shoes, her necklace.

Chuffrey stays unusually close, and she both expects and hates it. Usually he’s inviting men to the den for cigars and business talk. How patronizing. But tonight he’s at her side, tagging along as she wins the hearts of the city’s most powerful people.

“I’m just happy my Glinda is getting the recognition she deserves,” he tells their guests. He doesn’t smile down at her as he says it. He doesn’t even act like she’s there. “She’s always been a bright one—for a lady, of course. Went to that college up in Shiz.”

There’s always an air of mockery when Chuffrey talks about Shiz, as if he’s revealing something scandalous about her. But Glinda places her hand on his chest and smiles, saying nothing. Nobody ever asks her what Shiz was like, what she studied. Usually they just awkwardly move on, not sure how to address the idea of an educated woman.

“A college girl?” asks one of the bankers around them. He winks at Chuffrey. “You caught a wild one, didn’t you?”

Or, if they’re feeling bold, they say something like that.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Glinda says before Chuffrey can speak. The man looks at her, smug with her sudden attention. “I was quite serious about my studies.”

“Of course, Lady Chuffrey. I went to university myself. I know not all studies are purely academic.”

Chuffrey chuckles good-naturedly, cutting off any response Glinda can come up with. “What does the past matter?” he asks. “It brought her to me in the end.” She feels his fingers tighten around her waist.

“Indeed.” The banker raises his glass. “And we are all the better off for it. Congratulations, both of you.”

Their little group disperses at that. Alone for a moment, but with eyes still on them, Chuffrey turns to her. He leans down, and she tilts her head so his lips brush her cheek.

His other hand comes up, touching her jaw and turning her so he can kiss her mouth. She feels the prickle of his mustache against her lip. It’s quick and light, nothing outrageous in front of the company. But it doesn’t need to be a lot for her to understand what’s behind it.

These are the nights when she misses Elphaba the most. Elphaba, who knows how important Shiz was, and how hard Glinda fought to be there. Elphaba, who asked about her studies, her thoughts, her passions. Who would let Glinda tell a smirking businessman off, unless she just couldn’t hold back and had to do it herself.

Elphaba, who sees Glinda as her own person. A real human being, with ideas and desires and complex emotions. Not someone to be won or owned. And who, when she kissed Glinda, never did it for show.

And now her missing Elphie is not only an ache, but a craving.

When she first married, she would try to imagine Elphaba in bed with her instead of Chuffrey. It was a lost cause, of course. They are too different, in every possible way. But sometimes, on the rare nights when she sleeps alone, she can pull up old memories: lumpy beds in noisy rooms where Elphaba could never seem to let go of her, or their freezing dormitory. Yes, that’s one of her favorites. When she heard Elphaba shivering across the room and gathered her blankets, going to wrap both them and herself around her. And when she went to kiss Elphaba’s cheek good night, Elphie turned her head to meet her. Glinda thinks of how they didn’t sleep, but they kept plenty warm, and her fingers are close enough to Elphaba’s that, for a moment, she’s no longer alone.

A shrill laugh brings her back to the party. Chuffrey is standing too close, his hand still on her waist, and the heat flooding through her turns to something sickening. She pulls away.

“Let me go fetch us some champagne, hm?”

He smiles his thanks, already turning away to greet one of his business associates. Once free, Glinda takes a breath to steady herself. She almost makes it to one of the servers, but a graying man in a sharp emerald suit steps into her path.

“Lady Chuffrey,” he says, tilting his head toward her. She notices the gold stripes at his shoulders.

“Captain of the Guard.” She holds out her hand. “You honor me.”

He kisses her knuckles. His movements are curt, formal. For a moment, she’s genuinely intimidated.

“You have a lovely home,” he tells her, “and lovely taste in guests.”

“I count myself as very fortunate.”

“Perhaps, though the people tend to believe you deserve it.”

The intimidation is gone. He’s wrapped around her finger, too. Glinda gives him her most charming smile.

“I’m flattered. I only hope I can continue to do so.”

“I’m sure you will.” He meets her eyes. “It is safe to assume, then, that you’ve heard the rumors of—”

“Captain!”

A boy runs into the ballroom, one of the servants on his heels. Glinda thinks, briefly, of Boq. This boy is so small. So young. He nearly skids to a halt before them, coming to attention.

“News from General Lakree, sir, in the Kells.”

The servant bows low. “I’m sorry, my lady. I told him to wait for me to fetch someone, but—”

“It’s quite alright,” Glinda says. “I won’t have my household getting in the way of Gale Force business.”

For the first time, the boy seems to realize who he’s interrupted. His eyes dart nervously between her and the captain. His suit is also emerald, but it bunches at the shoulders, a touch too big on him, and there is no gold save for the buttons.

“Report,” the captain says.

A hush has fallen over the room. The boy relaxes his stance.

“The general has broken camp. He and his troops are personally escorting Dorothy and her company back to the city.” The boy runs out of breath and has to pause before continuing. He looks less nervous now. “Kiamo Ko is now abandoned. He checked the castle himself. The Witch is dead.”

Behind Glinda, a champagne flute explodes.

-

Hours later, long after Chuffrey’s snores have filled the room for the night, Glinda tucks her hair into her hood and slips away from the house. It’s not the first time she’s snuck out, but it’s the first time in many years.

When she first came to the city, she used to meet Crope in the lower districts, letting him lead her through the night, from a run-down theater to a scandalous club or wherever else he saw fit for their current mood. Together, they pretended to be back in school, on one of their nightly romps with the rest of their friends. Glinda was never sure if it made things better or worse, but it was something other than lying awake next to Chuffrey for hours, so she never turned Crope down.

Later, her late nighttime wanderings became missions. She had always known, somehow, that Elphaba was in the city. Surely, if she was ever to be found, it would be at night. Those times, she would be out until the first hours of dawn, when she would creep back into her house, shivering, and she would lie in the bed facing away from Chuffrey, lest he wake and see her tears.

Tonight, she has an entirely different purpose. There is no Crope, wild and haunted in his lower districts. He can’t share her pain anymore. He can’t possibly know. And there is no—sweeping through the shadows, fighting and cursing, or maybe just barely surviving—there is no—she’s not—

Glinda grits her teeth and keeps her head down as she pushes on through the streets. The buildings here are rich, extravagant, carved stone rather than crumbling brick, but she saw through the façade years ago. Every foot of this city is covered in filth.

A sharp breeze picks up, swirling down the street and through her. Glinda grips the neck of her cloak and pulls it tighter. It’s getting colder, and the sun rises later every day. Summer has begun to fade.

There’s a storm brewing, too, she realizes. Back in Shiz, she learned to pick up on the signs quickly. The drop in temperature, the taste of something metallic in the air. Soon it will be raining. She knows the irony.

It shouldn’t be so easy. There should be more guards. Someone should see her, call out, stop her. But she moves silently past them. Anyone who does turn her way simply blinks and keeps turning, looking elsewhere.

She reaches the front gates and stops before the guards, pulling her hood down.

“Lady Glinda,” one says. “You shouldn’t be—”

“I seek an audience.” There’s something in her words. The guards fall still, eyes glazing over as they stare at her. “It’s of the utmost importance.”

“Yes, my lady.” The doors open before her. She pulls the hood back over her head and enters. Once she is through, she turns, eyes boring into each of the guards in turn. By the time the doors close, they’ll wonder if they ever really saw her at all.

She had thought it paranoia at the time, the idea that Morrible could bewitch them, blur their memories. And then she’d found the spell to do it.

The palace, too, is quieter than it should be. She hasn’t been here since she was a girl—lifetimes had passed since then—but she remembers far more people. Then again, that was daytime. They’d had an appointment. The Wizard had been waiting for them.

She makes her way to the throne room. How she remembers, she doesn’t know. But her feet guide her and the shadows beckon her, and soon she’s there, pressing her fingers against an ornate door.

It opens slowly, creaking. But she doesn’t worry about the noise, because the one she’s looking for is already there, waiting, just as he was all those years ago.

“Glinda from Frottica,” says the Wizard, “descended from the Arduennas of the Upland.”

There is no skeleton this time. No glowing lights or darkening thunderstorm. There is only a man: gray, balding, wearing a plain, slightly worn suit.

The Wizard had spoken calmly, but Glinda can’t keep the venom out of her voice.

“Oz,” she says. “The Great and Terrible.”

“If you please.” He smiles at her, tilting his head forward. “I was wondering when you would come to me.”

“So you know.” She steps closer, making her way across the room. “You know everything.”

“The Witch is dead, yes.”

“But she wasn’t a Witch.” Glinda stops a few feet in front of him. “Both of us know it.”

He spreads his hands. “She possessed some magical ability. That makes her a Witch, does it not?”

“She was a student.”

“A radical. A revolutionary.”

“She wanted to do what was right,” Glinda hisses. “She wanted to fix Oz.”

“She let her emotions rule her.” The Wizard studies her. “Are you making the same mistake?”

“You had her _killed_.” The sconces along the walls light up, their blaze casting red shadows over the two of them. Glinda takes a breath, steadying herself, but the flames don’t die down. “You had her killed, but what can you do to me?”

His eyes trail across the room, passing over the torches. Finally, he looks back at her. He doesn’t say anything, but his face is open, accepting whatever comes next.

“You’re leaving,” Glinda says fiercely. “The people don’t want you anymore.”

“Indeed not. They want _you_. Can you handle it?”

She lifts her chin. “Whether I can or not, that’s not your concern anymore.”

“I suppose.” He smiles a little. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re off to a marvelous start.”

“Leave,” she says. “You’ve already made the arrangements.”

“It’s not as simple as—”

“_Leave_.” She moves closer and watches him struggle not to step back. “I won’t ask you again.”

Their eyes meet. It would be a challenge, except they both know who will win. The Wizard looks away, but he smiles to himself as he says, “Yes, Your Goodness.”

“As soon as that girl returns to the city, you’ll be gone. If not…”

“I understand.” He turns to leave, but then stops, facing her one last time. “You feared me so much, when you first came here.”

Glinda nearly laughs. She turns her back on him and leaves the way she came. Not fearing him, not fearing the guards, not fearing anything.

“Of course I did,” she says. “I had something to lose, then.”

-

The storm that rolls through the city that night is violent, relentless, and it’s still raining come morning. Glinda claims it was the thunder that kept her up all night and asks for breakfast to be brought to her chambers.

The servants sense her foul mood and leave her alone, but if Chuffrey has any idea what she’s feeling, he doesn’t let on. He eats in the room with her, shuffling his morning paper and reading pieces out loud to her.

“Oh, the orphanage is asking for money again, the poor lot. Weren’t you just down there?”

Glinda sets her cup on its saucer, taking care not to let the dishes clink together. “It was a few weeks ago. I’m planning on going again soon.”

“They must be in a sorry state. This is their second posting this month.”

“Yes, well, that’s what happens when they’re forced to rely on donors to stay open.”

She hears his dry chuckle, but refuses to look up to see it.

“And I suppose that’ll be on your to-do list, once you’ve taken the throne?” he asks her.

“I don’t see how it couldn’t be.”

“The palace does send them money, you know.”

Glinda closes her eyes. His voice is grating, and she doesn’t feel like starting a debate with someone who doesn’t actually care about the matter.

But then he rustles the paper again, and she can just imagine the smirk on his face as he takes her silence to mean victory.

“The funding they give is nothing compared to what the Wizard has poured into his parties. Or the military that put half those children in there.” Glinda opens her eyes again, just in time to see Chuffrey lift the papers in front of his face. “If the palace really cared, they’d fund half a dozen more across the city. Lurline knows we need them.”

Chuffrey is quiet for a moment. Then he mumbles, “Such talk isn’t fitting for a future ruler.”

Glinda lifts her cup again and sips from her tea. If that’s his only response, then she’s won.

Silence falls. She hears the rushed, muffled step of servants passing outside the door and looks down at her breakfast tray, still full of food. Perhaps she should ask them to take it away. She can feign illness, spend the day in bed with one of her old books. Maybe then Chuffrey will leave her alone. She needs to be alone. If she can have one day—just one day to herself, to be left with her thoughts—then she can get her bearings and figure out what must be done next.

Chuffrey flips a page. “Oh, dear, look. It seems old Madame Morrible has taken ill again.”

_Good, _thinks Glinda. Perhaps this time the old carp will finally croak.

“Do you plan to pay her a visit, too, love?” He’s mocking her now, getting back at her for her outburst before.

She says nothing.

Chuffrey chuckles to himself and reads on. After another while, he stops and spreads the papers in front of him.

“Look here now, Glinda, I know you’ll enjoy this. ‘The Lord and Lady Tenmeadows open their manor to the Wizard and his staff, hosting a grand celebration to mark his retirement.’”

“Retirement,” Glinda scoffs. “He’s been scared off. Even if he wasn’t, he’d have been run out soon enough.”

“But the party, dear,” says Chuffrey. “Your friends always throw a good time, don’t they? Avaric and—which one was it now—”

“Shenshen married him,” she says.

“Of course. How could I forget dear Lady Shenshen.”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s been ages since I last spoke to any of them,” Glinda says, almost through her teeth. “You know that.”

“Ah, right. Yes, you do seem to have lost touch with all those old school friends of yours.”

It would have hurt less if he’d struck her. Glinda looks up, shocked that he would even bring it up. Had he meant it like that? Had he meant—

His gaze is level, waiting to meet her eyes. Yes. Yes, that’s exactly what he meant.

Glinda smoothes her expression. He has no idea what he’s talking about. He knows, vaguely, that she and Elphaba had known each other at Shiz, but he doesn’t know the truth. She would be surprised if he even knew Elphaba’s name.

Chuffrey poses no threat. He likely just wants to hurt her. She’s being short this morning, and smart, and all the attention she’s been getting has made him jealous. This is simply his way of lashing out.

Pathetic as it is, though, it’s working. And she can’t let him know.

“Oh, you know how it is.” Her voice is light again, soft and airy. It makes her empty stomach turn. “We’re all so busy these days, and time has a way of just passing us by.”

Chuffrey makes a noise of agreement. “Yes, and Oz knows we’re only going to get busier.”

There’s a hint of jealousy still, but other than that, everything is back to normal. Glinda resists the urge to roll her eyes.

“Still,” she says instead, “Perhaps you’re right. One of their parties would do us good, before all these messy politics. I’ll send Shen a note.”

Chuffrey smiles at her, his bushy mustache lifting in appreciation. She says nothing in return.

One of the kitchen servants comes in a while later, clearing away their trays and quietly asking Glinda if she wants anything else instead.

“No, Beckett, thank you. I’m fine.”

“As you wish, madam.”

Chuffrey gives her a look as Beckett leaves the room. “You’re on a first name basis with that one, too?”

“I hired him, didn’t I?”

“Mm. Along with dozens of others.”

“Yes, and I know all of their names as well.” Glinda rises from her chair. If she can just lie down, maybe he’ll take the hint and—

Chuffrey grabs her arm as he passes her and gives her a little tug, angling his cheek for her to kiss. She screws her eyes shut and does so, pressing her lips to his skin until he lets her go and she can step out of his reach again.

“I have a luncheon at the Glades today. Wives are invited.”

Turned away from him, Glinda rolls her eyes. “More gossip than business, then?”

“Don’t be cynical, dear. It doesn’t suit you.”

“I’m afraid I’m not feeling well,” she tells him. “I think I’ll just rest this morning.”

Chuffrey scoffs. “You were fine last night.”

“I know. Strange, isn’t it? Must be the stress of a hostess, finally getting the better of me.”

“Perhaps you’re just tired.” Something hard has crept into his voice. “That’s what tends to happen when you’re out of bed in the middle of the night.”

Glinda closes her eyes, but the lie comes easily. She looks over at him again.

“Yes, that too,” she says. “I was tossing and turning, and I didn’t want to wake you, so I went to read in the study until I was bored enough to fall asleep.”

“Well. If you are well enough to be wandering the halls, surely you’re well enough to accompany me.”

“I really don’t—”

“Are you too ill to leave the house today?”

Glinda wonders, briefly, if there’s a spell to make _him _sick. But she can’t think of one off the top of her head, so she crosses her arms and sits on the bed with a huff.

“I thought so,” says Chuffrey. “I’ll send your lady up. Be ready to leave in an hour.”

“Don’t send anyone. I can ready myself.”

“As you wish, dear.” Chuffrey walks over and reaches for her. He bends to kiss her, but she twists her neck away. He lingers a moment, waiting for her to give in and turn back to him. She doesn’t.

With a sigh, Chuffrey straightens up, smoothes his hands over his shirt, and makes his way out of their room.

-

By the time she and Chuffrey arrive at the Glades that afternoon, it’s as if nothing had happened. Glinda steps down from their carriage with her head high and her shoulders back. She takes Chuffrey’s arm when he offers it and allows him to lead her into the building.

They walk into an elegant, open room, full of plush, emerald carpets and ornate, gold-plated furniture. Chandeliers sparkle above the tables. There are several halls branching out from the back wall, leading to various meeting rooms and somewhere, Glinda supposes, a grand kitchen to supply the hundreds of people currently dining in the main hall. At each side of the room, a golden staircase spirals up onto a balcony, with more doorways leading off to the men’s smoking rooms.

Chuffrey takes her over to one of the staircases, and a table of finely dressed women stand to greet her. Glinda gladly steps away from Chuffrey and into another woman’s embrace. She squeezes hands, kisses cheeks, and generally just flashes her best smile. Somewhere during all of it, Chuffrey excuses himself and heads upstairs.

“They’ve called an emergency meeting,” one of the ladies says as they all take their seats. “It must be quite important.”

“Well, you know how they love to gossip,” says the woman next to Glinda. She flashes her a knowing smile. “My Ictor has been dying to talk to Sir Chuffrey for weeks, but especially since your party last night.”

“That’s good,” Glinda says, “Because Chuffrey has been dying to brag to somebody.”

A chuckle spreads across the table. Another woman leans forward.

“So it is true, then?” she asks Glinda. “Everything they’re saying is true?”

“Of course it’s true,” someone laughs. “Didn’t you hear them singing in the streets this morning? The Witch is dead.”

Glinda’s smile tightens. She picks up a glass of water and sips delicately.

The motion catches their attention again, and all eyes are on her once more.

“And you, Miss Glinda? Is it true what they’re saying about you?”

Glinda raises an eyebrow and quirks her lips. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

More laughter. A couple of them lean in. “Oh, do tell us, Glinda. We’re all dying to know.”

Glinda sets her water down with a little laugh. “Ladies, please. I know little more than any of you. It’s just a rumor.”

“A rumor that everybody knows,” someone says.

“That doesn’t make it true.”

“Well, it ought to be.” The woman next to Glinda touches her shoulder. “We all know the work you do. And you’re a Shiz girl. The city needs a lady like you in charge.”

Glinda smiles, but though she means it, her chest still feels tight.

-

They’re not out long, but even after they return home Glinda is still denied her rest. As soon as she’s through the doors, the housekeeper is upon her, taking her coat and handing it off to the nearest maid while rattling off a list things that need her attention after last night’s party.

“Marva, dear, please,” Glinda says once Chuffrey has disappeared down the hall. “Let’s take this somewhere we can rest our feet. Now tell me, what absolutely must be done immediately? I fear I don’t have the energy for much more of anything today.”

“Of course, my lady. We’ll go to your study. I can send for a kettle, if you like.”

Soon Glinda is set up at her desk, a tea tray beside her, and a short stack of letters in front of her. She signs the last one—to the Captain of the Guard, thanking him for his presence in her home—and lays her pen down. Evening has fallen, sooner than she thought it would, and she waves her fingers to light the lamps along the wall. Technically, she can quit now. A servant can bundle the letters into envelopes and send them out. She can call for a quick meal, or a bath to be drawn, and she can go to bed.

But, she doesn’t know where Chuffrey is, and she can’t bear the thought of seeing him awake again. So, with a sigh, she makes sure her ink has dried and begins folding the letters. When she’s done, she can go over the books and review the expenses from the party. She can also—as Marva had suggested, a proud sort of twinkle in her eye—start drafting an official address or two. And after that…well, she’s sure she can find something.

She stays away from Chuffrey—and everyone else, for that matter—for the rest of the night. It’s later than even she expects when she blows out the lights in the study and makes her way to her bedroom.

Chuffrey is already there, sprawled across the bed, his rattling snores filling the room. Carefully, still biding her time, Glinda takes the pins from her hair. She pulls the rings from her fingers and the jewels from her ears, unlaces her corset, and slips from her dresses into her nightgown. She moves slowly, cautiously, dreading the rustle of a dress or the clink of her jewelry in their dishes making too much noise and waking Chuffrey.

But he keeps snoring, as oblivious as always, and soon there’s nothing left for Glinda to do but crawl into bed next to him.

She lies on the farthest edge of the mattress, above the covers, and pulls her pillow close, half-hugging it as she finally lets herself rest her head. Glinda closes her eyes, listens to Chuffrey’s huffing and grumbling, and clutches the cover of her pillow as her thoughts begin to spiral, her mind desperately searching for a way to make sense of this new world where Elphie doesn’t exist.

It is a long, merciless night, and Glinda isn’t sure she’s going to sleep until she’s waking the next morning. The room is blue with the early dawn. Her eyes are heavy and scratchy, and though she doesn’t speak—Chuffrey is still fast asleep beside her—she knows her voice is going to be raw and hollow.

She can’t have that, and Chuffrey clearly won’t allow her to feign illness. So she rises and leaves the room to call for honeyed tea and a hot bath. Hopefully, when she’s done that, she’ll feel okay enough to put on her makeup and dresses and jewels. And if not—well, she’s just going to have to do it anyway.

-

The days pass, turning into a week, and then two. She lets herself fall deep into her routine of ceremony and society, lets her manners and charm take over while her mind and her heart retreat, and it’s not long at all before she loses track of the details.

They have dinner at the palace one night, the most extravagant meal she’s ever attended. From then on, the official announcement is all over the city. Guests show up at her home and she makes her round of social calls. A palace official invites her to lunch and takes her around the city one afternoon. All of her old friends write her, and she tears the letters in half without opening any of them—even the ones bearing Boq and Crope’s names.

They attend a party, two, five. They sit in honored seats at everyone’s tables. Glinda buys a new dress and Chuffrey brings her a pair of heavy emerald earrings. Rumors spread about the Dorothy girl, and where she and her companions and her army are now. People whisper about the Wizard, and how he’s already taking measures to leave. How no one has seen him in days. How he might even, already, be gone.

Two weeks turn into three, and Glinda has resigned herself to the complex rush of meetings, parties, officials, admirers. She speaks to her servants more than her husband. She writes letters instead of visiting in person, if she can. She lies awake each night, gritting her teeth against Chuffrey’s snores, trembling with the sick, twisting emotions she’s shoved down all day. Every night, she expects to cry, but the tears never come, so she digs her fingers into the bed sheets and screws her eyes shut until she gives herself a headache and, eventually, exhaustion overcomes her for a couple of hours.

-

It’s a pleasant evening, the night it happens.

A servant knocks on her study door just as it’s getting too dark to work. Glinda looks up from her papers, blinking and rolling her shoulders.

“A message from Sir Chuffrey, my lady.”

“Yes, alright,” she says, setting her pen down and waving her hand. “What is it?”

“He says he’ll be out late tonight, my lady, and that you needn’t wait up for him.”

The poor boy’s voice trembles as he speaks—Chuffrey being out late doesn’t usually mean a business call—but Glinda finds herself smiling. Finally. _Finally_, a break.

“Thank you,” she tells the boy, and he nods and gives a little bow before hurrying out.

As soon as the door shuts behind him, Glinda hurries to put her things away for the night. She can order dinner to be brought up to her room. She can take off her gowns and her pins early. She can curl up—taking up as much of the bed as she wants—and hide beneath the blankets and be alone with only her thoughts of Elphie, dear Elphie, poor Elphie. Tonight is about Elphaba. Tonight, she’s allowed to think about her. Tonight, when no one is around, she’s allowed to grieve.

Glinda nearly runs to her chambers. She passes Beckett on the way, but decides against asking for dinner to be brought up. As soon as her door is shut, she doesn’t want to see another person for the rest of the night. She’s not hungry, anyway.

She’s anticipating the relief—she can already feel it, in the ache of her feet, the press of her corset—but when she steps into her room and closes the door behind her, all she can feel is the silence.

Silence. Heavy and impossibly loud. She can’t breathe. She can’t _breathe_.

Glinda shoves away from the door and stumbles over to her vanity. Something rises in her chest, tightening her throat, and she doubles over, coughing.

When it passes, she reaches back, her fingers fumbling against the laces of her gown. She manages to get herself down to her chemise and looks herself in the mirror. Her hair is still done up. Her makeup is flawless. The heavy earrings Chuffrey had bought her are still in her ears from today’s lunch with the captain of the Gale Force.

It disgusts her, all of it. She starts with the earrings, nearly tearing them out and throwing them onto the vanity. She pulls at her hair next, yanking it down pin by pin, flinching as she pricks and pulls at her scalp, but never stopping. And when that’s done she runs to the bathroom and bends over the sink, scrubbing furiously until her skin is natural and bare and unwanted by anyone other than—

With that thought, she stops. She stands up again and looks at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes red, her lashes dark and wet. She looks as if she’s been crying her eyes out. It’s the closest she’s gotten, all these weeks.

She wipes her sleeve over her face and steps back into the room. Her clothes are lying in a pile on the floor. Her vanity is a mess. She ignores both and walks over to the doors leading out onto the balcony.

Her breathing has evened out, and she almost feels calm as she steps out into the fresh air. The heat had finally broken earlier in the week; summer is officially on its way out. Glinda goes to the railing and leans against it, letting the night settle, cool and still, around her.

Her mind settles with it. Elphaba would love a night like this: cool enough that sweat wouldn’t prickle at her scalp, but warm enough that she could stay out for as long as she likes. She’d be at the library still, or sitting at the window of their dorm. She liked looking at the stars. She always said it scared her, but in a good way. And Glinda would ask what she meant, and she’d just shake her head and hold out her arms. _I’m not sure. When you’re here, _she’d say, her voice softer and sweeter than anyone else had ever heard it, _When you’re here, it doesn’t feel like that at all. _

Yes, Elphaba would love this night. But she isn’t here to experience it. She will never be here to experience it. Never again. _Never_.

Glinda expects it to hit her hard. She expects the pain to come—embraces it, even—but it doesn’t. There is no punch in the gut, no cry tearing from her lips. There is just reality, cold and cruel and inescapable: Elphaba isn’t here. She no longer exists in this world, or any world, if either of them are right about the matter. That’s just how it is.

And if that’s how it is, if that’s what’s come to be, then there is no fairness in this world, either. There is no justice, no righteousness. There is nothing that is worth it. Nothing that matters. Nothing, really, at all.

Glinda sighs and turns her back on the city, heading back inside.

No, Elphaba Thropp doesn’t exist anymore. She hasn’t for weeks now. There have been rumors about her, too. About how she died. How Dorothy did it. Perhaps she’s a witch, too. Perhaps she’s the Ozma incarnate. Perhaps it was merely the Gale Force, giving her the credit because it was her job and everyone the girl meets seems to have a soft spot for her. Even Glinda. Stupid, naïve, guilty Glinda.

The one thing everyone says, though, is that she burned. In the most unusual, unlikely of ways—it was quite like Elphaba, really—she burned, melted away into nothing, all at the end of a bucket of water.

They laughed about it, today at lunch with the Captain. All these years with a Wicked Witch at large, and all they needed was a bucket of water. It was enchanted, some people say. This Dorothy girl is strange, foreign, there’s no telling what she actually did. But Glinda knows better. She remembers cloudy days at Shiz, cloaks and scarves and gloves pulled tight. She remembers long hours in whatever building the storm had caught them in. She remembers holding Elphaba close in the carriage, one day on their bumpy road to the Emerald City, shielding her from any rain the wind tried to send their way. She remembers early days in their dormitory, worrying that her roommate never bathed, and then wondering at the burn cream Elphaba brought out one night. She still has the smell of each and every oil memorized, and how they would glisten against Elphaba’s skin and make her hair shine in the low light of the single lantern between their beds. She remembers putting her hair up before stepping into the bath because it would take ages to dry, and she couldn’t bear to be out of Elphaba’s arms for that long. She remembers—

She remembers far too much. And, Glinda thinks, crossing the room to the ornate cabinet that holds Chuffrey’s liquor, she is far too sober.

Glinda pulls at the small handle on the door, but it rattles and stays shut. She scoffs and presses her hand to the keyhole beneath. Pathetic, really. It gives way with a tiny click.

She takes one of the larger crystal glasses and a half-empty bottle of something dark and strong and makes her way over to her desk. The stopper of the bottle comes out with a satisfying sound, and the liquid spills beautifully into her glass. She picks it up and drinks it one go, then pours another.

And another.

She remembers Elphaba brushing tears from her cheeks with fingers too calloused to notice the sting. She remembers the hiss and wince whenever a splash of water did manage to reach her. She remembers taking over the laundry in the weeks between Ama falling ill and Nanny arriving at Shiz. How Elphaba would laugh at her when she returned, the entire front of her dress soaked and her hair a sweaty mess around her face, and Glinda would just grin because, dignified or not, she had done something good.

She pours another and throws it back.

Elphaba never feared water, despite what some of their classmates thought. She simply knew how much it hurt. Glinda knew, too. She’s seen the burns. The raw, peeling skin. The trickle of blood that seemed to never stop, no matter how many times she dabbed it away. The way Elphaba would sit, so tight she was shaking, and how her voice would tremble as she said something wry or witty in an attempt to break the tension. And Glinda would laugh without meaning to, which meant Elphaba would laugh, which meant she wouldn’t be shaking quite as much when Glinda pressed the salve or the bandage to her skin.

Another.

Glinda places her empty glass on the table, using the utmost care so it won’t make a sound against the wood. She can feel the alcohol burning down her throat. Her head should be spinning by now, but everything just feels slower. Emptier. Like she’s not quite here.

She gives up on the glass and takes her next drink straight from the bottle. Her hands are steadier than they should be. Good. Maybe when Chuffrey gets back, he won’t know how far gone she is.

She places the bottle on the desk and reaches into the middle drawer. She lifts the wooden box out and undoes the lock, then one by one pulls out the old letters. If Elphaba is gone, then she needs to be well and truly gone.

Glinda turns away from the desk, taking the top letter and dropping it, staring blankly as it flutters to the floor. She grabs the bottle and tilts it, letting it drip onto the paper. She closes one eye, raises her hand, and summons her magic. There’s a quick burst of heat, and then the letter is on fire, flickering on the floor in front of her.

She watches it curl and darken in the flames. She grabs the next one and dumps enough alcohol on it to completely soak through. Then she drops the dripping page onto the floor beside the ashes of the first one.

“Burn,” she whispers, shooting the spark at it. “Just like she did. Burn, burn, burn.”

She feels the heat against her face, fierce enough to bite. She doesn’t care, just carefully grabs another letter and lets it fall onto the flames.

She takes another long drink and watches the pages turn black and crumble. Soon enough there’s a little pile of ash, along with the beginning of a burn mark on the floor. Someone’s going to see that. Someone’s going to ask questions.

Glinda picks up the box and dumps every last letter onto the pile. She puts the bottle to her lips and drinks until she can’t anymore, then dumps the rest onto the papers.

The door opens behind her. Chuffrey. Anyone else would knock.

“Glinda? What are you…?”

Glinda doesn’t turn. She sets the empty bottle back on the desk, the glass knocking firmly against wood, then holds her hand out. The spark flies from her palm straight into the letters, and then they’re ablaze, hotter and brighter than before.

Chuffrey shouts something behind her. She doesn’t hear. Doesn’t care to. She feels him move closer.

“Glinda, stop this! What are you doing?” He puts a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs him off.

“Don’t touch me.”

“We need to get out of here. I’ll call someone to put it out, then—”

“Don’t bother,” she says, still staring at the flame.

Chuffrey touches her again. His voice changes. Still strained, still Chuffrey, but softer in some way. “Glinda, dear, I’m sorry. I know it’s hard. I know you were friends—”

“Friends?” Glinda, despite herself, laughs. It sounds cold, even to her ears. “You don’t know anything.”

“I know that you’re not acting right.” His grip tightens, all softness gone. “Listen. Come with me. Let’s put you to bed, and I’ll take care of this, and in the morning everything will seem better.”

She finally faces him, yanking her arm away. “Don’t patronize me. I’m not a child. I’m not some stupid, pretty girl for you to take care of.” Her gaze returns to the fire. Of course, there was only ever one person to truly believe that. One person, and she is gone, burnt to nothingness, just like those letters she would never read. Glinda turns back to Chuffrey, glaring. “So don’t you dare tell me what to do.”

“I’m your husband. I will do whatever I please, especially if I know it’s best for you.”

“You have no idea what’s best for me.”

“I beg to differ.” He grabs her arm again, and this time when she tries to pull away he squeezes, hard enough to hurt.

“Let me go,” she hisses, struggling to twist away. She wants him gone. Why is he even here? Doesn’t he know she just wants to be alone? All this time, all she’s wanted was to grieve, and he won’t let her. She wants him gone, she wants the emptiness from earlier, she wants—she wants—

“Why are you fighting me?” He takes her by the shoulders and shakes her, hard. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I said, let me _go_!”

She actually manages to slip free, just enough to swing her arm around. Her elbow hits his chest, and he steps back, wheezing. His eyes narrow and he growls some curse at her, reaching for her again. She feels herself being shoved back into the desk, hears the glass behind her roll to the floor and shatter.

Glinda’s head spins. Her vision blurs. It must be the alcohol, finally catching up. She can feel the heat of the fire next to them, his fingers digging into her arms. Something sharp pricks her palm, followed by the slow, wet trickle of something warm down her wrist.

When she can focus again, everything has changed. She’s on the floor. Chuffrey pushed her, didn’t he? That’s what happened? And Chuffrey, he’s…

She looks down at the body. A shard of crystal sticks out of his neck, completely covered in blood. Glinda realizes her hand is covered, too. And she’s holding the shard.

She pushes herself to her feet, then steps around Chuffrey’s body to get to the bathroom. She runs her hand under warm water until she can’t see the blood anymore, then makes sure the sink is spotless. When that’s done, she returns to the bedroom.

The letters have burned into nothing. She raises her hand over the char mark they’ve left on the floor. Her fingers are steady. Should they be that steady?

A small burst of energy, and the ashes are scattered across the room, unnoticeable. The burnt wood, too, has disappeared, leaving no sign that it ever existed.

Glinda steps back over to the body and kneels beside it. She doesn’t feel a thing.

She screams for help.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics are from "Yellow Flicker Beat" by Lorde

_I'm a princess cut from marble, smoother than a storm_

_And the scars that mark my body, they're silver and gold_

_My blood is a flood of rubies, precious stones_

_It keeps my veins hot, the fire's found a home in me_

_\---_

The night is a blur. She doesn’t know how or when time passes, doesn’t know what’s real and what’s not.

Marva has her wrapped in a blanket and cradling a steaming mug of tea by the time the Gale Force arrive. Chuffrey’s valet meets them at the door and leads them to the bedroom. Glinda is tucked safely in another room, but she hears the strain in his voice as he answers questions. No, we don’t know what happened. I saw him a few minutes before—he’d just returned from a meeting. No, sir, he didn’t say. No, nothing—she’s in hysterics.

She really isn’t. Glinda cradles the warm mug between her palms and feels nothing. There were tears when she needed them, but now one of the maids is whispering about shock, and Glinda is content to let the quiet numbness ease over her body, stiffening her joints and making her eyelids heavy. Her mind is surprisingly still. She only wonders vaguely when the soldiers will come for her, and how easy it will be to charm her way out of trouble. If she’ll even need to try.

Perhaps it’s because of her odd silence, or the way her eyes itch with fatigue, but when the first Gale Force officer walks in, he’s nothing but gentle. She lets him walk up to her and ease the mug out of her hand. He sets it on the nearest table and kneels before her, looking up at her face.

“Lady Chuffrey,” he says quietly, “I’m so sorry. He’s gone.”

_She’s gone_, Glinda repeats silently. She lets her head fall, lets her eyes shut and the tears spill silently down her cheeks, but that’s all she does. Even now, when it’s under false pretenses and she’s sure she can get away with it, she can’t bear to lose control. Besides, she doesn’t want to be mistaken for crying for him.

There are hands on her shoulder, her back, fretting with her hair. The soldier stands and backs away, leaving her to the frantic coddling of her servants. Soon she hears his voice, murmuring among others in the hallway outside. She hears Marva and the valet talking. Oz, she can practically feel her name on their lips, their sympathetic glances at the mostly closed door.

She knows what will happen now. All she has to do is just sit there and let everything fall into place.

“…was supposed to move next week,” she hears Marva say. “Rushing her—the stress of it all—”

“Better than keeping her alone in the house,” says one of the soldiers. “The sooner she can move on, the easier palace life will be on her.”

She hears the valet make some sort of confirmation, hears their tones shift to something more comfortable as they begin talking details and preparations. She hears dates being thrown around and shifts, lifting her head. She reaches for one of the hands on her shoulders and squeezes it gently. The maid touches both hands to Glinda’s, then lets go and takes a step back.

Glinda keeps the blanket around her shoulders—she’s not sure if it makes her feel safer or more vulnerable—and pads across the room, easing the door open. The conversation in the hallway halts.

“Please, if I may request…” Her voice creaks, exhausted and strained. They all watch her patiently, fully attentive. She looks at the officer but doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “You’re right. The sooner I can adjust, the sooner I can move past this and focus on being the woman Oz needs me to be. And I don’t—” She lets her voice break, watery and thin. “I don’t want to sleep here tonight, alone, without—”

She won’t say his name, and she can’t say Elphaba’s. But she doesn’t need either. Already the servants and the soldiers are nodding, desperate to protect her, eager to serve her. Before she knows it, she and Marva and a hastily packed suitcase are rolling through the city in an ornate carriage, flanked by soldiers.

The palace is dark and quiet when she arrives. The soldiers light torches in the halls they lead Glinda through. She takes in nothing of it. The room they present to her could be a broom cupboard for all she knows. They carry in her bags and leave her be, and after Marva dresses down the bed, Glinda quietly dismisses her, too.

“Are you sure? If you don’t wish to be alone tonight…”

“I’m not sure I could stand the company,” Glinda says. “Forgive me. If I need you, I will call for you.”

Marva pulls a nightgown from one of her bags and lays it across the bed. “Yes, my lady.” She gives Glinda one last touch on the shoulder and leaves, shutting the door behind her with the utmost care so that Glinda barely hears the latch click.

Suddenly her bed is the most alluring thing Glinda has ever seen in her life. She swipes the nightgown away, then pauses, looking at her hand. A smear of dark, dark red has stained her palm. She stares at it for a moment, peering at the lines of her skin through the dried, flaking blood.

In a manner so unladylike she should have been horrified, she licks the thumb of her other hand and rubs the blood away. She crawls into the bed and sinks into the pillows, falling asleep easily.

-

Glinda wakes up late the next morning, sleep still weighing down her limbs. She opens her eyes, expecting to see Chuffrey’s side of the bed and, beyond that, the doors leading out to the balcony.

Instead, she sees an extravagant but unfamiliar room. A velvet chaise lounge sits in the corner, not far from the bed. An intricately carved table and chairs take up the opposite wall, and a gorgeous desk made of dark wood sits in the light from the windows.

Or, at least, it would, but this morning the sky is heavy and gray with an approaching storm. Glinda pushes herself up and out of the bed and goes to the window. It’s not raining, though she suspects it will be again soon. Outside she sees dripping trees and puddles pooled in the corner of the sidewalk. A courtyard, she supposes.

She turns away and wanders back through her room. It’s nice, even if there is too much green for her taste. But she can replace the furniture. She can tear down the oil paintings. She can ask for different colored sheets. Really, none of it matters.

Her suitcase is at the foot of the bed. The rest of her things will be brought over today—if they aren’t here already—but for now, Glinda lays out each of the dresses Marva packed for her. She owns nothing in black, but she’s pleased to see a navy gown, one of her simpler outfits. She puts it on and ties her hair back in a plain half-braid.

There are no official mourning traditions in Gillikin—at least, not ones that anyone follows anymore. But she’s not mourning a Gillikinese man, and the solemn, resilient wives of Munchkinland are extremely strict about their traditions. Elphaba once told her about how Frexspar had worn his usual black suits when Melena had died, adding only a black shirt and gloves. But if Frex had died, Melena would be wearing thick, black gowns, her hair down and tucked into a veil, for months. And even after that, she’d still be wearing plain gowns in soft, dull colors. Not at all Melena’s style, from what Glinda had gathered.

Not her style, either, and people will question her if she goes out and buys a thick widow’s gown. But Glinda can’t bring herself to let go of the idea. She needs something. _Something _to remind her why she’s here, what she’s working for, who she’s really mourning.

Glinda looks around the room, casting about for anything she can use: a pillow case, the bed skirt, the curtains—but none of them are dark enough. She turns back to the suitcase. A handkerchief, a pair of gloves, anything—

The suitcase. The inside is lined with a black, silky fabric. Glinda digs her fingers into it and tugs, but it doesn’t tear. She straightens with a huff. Fine then.

She strides over to the desk. None of her stuff is here, but perhaps—yes, there. An ornate letter opener sits waiting for her in the top drawer. She snatches it up and hurries back to the suitcase.

Elphaba carried a knife with her, back at Shiz. The day after Dillamond’s memorial—a heavy, silent affair that Elphaba and Boq had put together behind Morrible’s back—she had gone out and bought herself a thin little blade. _Easy for concealing_, she had said. Then, at Glinda’s horrified look, _Just a precaution. You know me—I’m paranoid._

Not paranoid enough. Glinda pulls the suitcase lining tight and slashes the letter opener across it with far more force than is necessary. Soon enough, she has a tattered strip long enough for what she needs. She shimmies her left arm out of its sleeve and winds the black fabric around it twice, then ties it in a knot. When she pulls the dress back on, it’s unnoticeable. But she feels it. Oh, how she feels it.

Somewhere in the distance a church bell chimes. Glinda stands still and counts. It’s late. Someone will come looking for her soon.

She clears everything else from the suitcase, latches it shut, and tucks it safely beneath the bed. When that’s done, she’s tempted to just lie down again. But she knows if she does that, she won’t get back up, and she can’t stand the thought of doing nothing today. Already, flashes of last night are coming back to her.

She pushes them away. She’ll just have to stay busy. If she’s moving, she’ll keep moving, and no one will see her falter.

So she should finish getting ready. Once her dresses are hanging neatly in the wardrobe, Glinda gathers the bottles of soaps and perfumes Marva had nestled between her clothes and takes them to the adjoining bathroom. It’s grand and sparkling, and even Glinda feels small standing in it. She takes a breath and grabs her powder.

She keeps it simple. Today, she can be plain. Unassuming. Today is for waiting, watching. They’ll expect her to be a mess anyway.

Marva had also—bless her, she meant well—packed a tiny jewelry box with her favorite necklace and the earrings Chuffrey had bought for her. Glinda ignores them both. When she’s finished, she walks calmly out of the bathroom and over to her bed. She sits down, smoothing her skirts as she does, then folds her hands in her lap and waits.

It’s not long before Marva arrives, knocking gently and easing her way into Glinda’s chambers.

“Good afternoon, my lady. How are you feeling?”

“I’m not sure.” It’s the closest thing to the truth Glinda can muster.

Marva crosses the room and presses the back of her hand to Glinda’s forehead, then her cheek. She clicks her tongue, reminding Glinda suddenly, awfully, of Ama Clutch.

“Well,” Marva says. “Did you at least sleep well?”

“Well enough. Now tell me, what do I have to do today?”

“Today?” Marva gives her a look. “Today you rest. You take care of yourself. You’ve been through a lot.”

“Which is why I need to do something,” Glinda insists. “Please, Marva. I’ll go mad sitting in this room all day.”

Marva hesitates. She glances around the room, and Glinda watches as she frowns at the clothes already hanging in the wardrobe. She expects to be scolded, but instead Marva just sighs and turns back to her.

“Alright, dearie. Let’s start with getting you some food, and we’ll see what we can do from there.”

Glinda nods. She stands—Marva fretting over her as she does—and together they leave the room.

She tries to pay attention to where they’re going. She’s only been to the public parts of the palace, and the sooner she learns her way around, the better, but each high-ceilinged hall and beautifully carved door looks exactly the same to her. She loses her bearings almost immediately.

Marva, however, doesn’t falter. She takes Glinda to a cozy side room and sits her in a plush chair before hurrying off again. Glinda barely has time to take in the tapestry hanging on the far wall and the tea table sitting in front of her before she’s back, carrying a tray nearly overflowing with food and drink.

“I see the palace’s service is nearly as good as our own estate’s,” Glinda says, sitting up to help her place the tray. “I suppose you’ve spent the morning whipping them all into shape?”

“I would never presume to, my lady.” But there’s a glint in her eye as she says it. “Is there anything else you need, or shall I leave you to it?”

Glinda reaches for her hand. “Won’t you stay? Please? I don’t want to be left in here all day.”

“Of course, Lady Glinda.”

“And eat something, please. I know you’ve been going non-stop since last night.”

“Well, of course,” Marva says, sitting. “I’d never forgive myself if there was something that could be done and I didn’t do it.”

“You’ve done everything, Marva. You always have.” Glinda picks up the tea pot as she speaks, but Marva clicks her tongue and leans forward to take it from her hands. Glinda feels a sheepish smile tugging at her lips as Marva pours.

The rest of the meal is quiet. Marva’s presence is enough to keep her company, and thankfully she seems content to simply let Glinda sit with her thoughts. When they finish, Glinda doesn’t even have to speak. Before she knows it, their tray has been taken away and a young man is waiting for them in the doorway.

“How does a tour sound, my dear?” Marva asks, taking Glinda’s hand and gently pulling her to her feet. “You simply must see your new study, and I know there are plenty of the staff here who are dying to catch a glimpse of their new lady.”

“I think I would like that,” says Glinda.

The man in the doorway—“Sherald, my lady,” he says when she asks his name—leads them out. They pass what she suspects is her room, though she can’t be sure, then head down what she remembers as the main staircase.

“We can start on the ground,” Sherald tells them. “It’s much easier to get your bearings that way.”

So they do. It’s nothing like either of Glinda’s trips through the palace in the past. Sunlight pours through the windows, making everything much brighter than she remembers. In a few of the fancier rooms, the light hits stained glass, casting everything in warm, glowing colors.

It’s busy, too, though not in the cramped, rushed way it was all those years ago. Guards and servants and the occasional well-dressed businessman passes them by, nodding or giving a quick word of greeting as they go.

Sherald shows them the entrance hall and the waiting rooms where the public will sit for hours for a four minute appointment with the Wizard. Glinda looks at them without recognition. She doesn’t remember that mural on the left wall, or how every chair is a shade of green. She barely remembers the anxiety that bubbled in her throat, and the way her back ached from sitting so tense for so long.

What she does remember is Elphaba, stern and rigid beside her, terrified—though Glinda suspects she was the only one who saw that—but determined.

She keeps all of this to herself and says nothing as Sherald leads them on.

“The bottom floors of the palace are divided into a public area and a private area. For example, the first floor holds the entrance hall, the visitors’ foyer, and then the kitchens.”

“I want to see them.”

“There’s no need, my lady. Our staff is run entirely separate from the politics of the palace. Your turnover will be seamless. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

Glinda puts on her most pleasant smile. “I should still like to see it. I’m their new employer, aren’t I? Not just another face moving in.”

Sherald looks surprised, but he does recover quickly, and Glinda notices how pleased his smile is as he takes them down another corridor.

She catches glimpses of the servants’ parts of the palace as they go. They pass a heavy wooden door, open to show someone in a wide, clean storeroom, loading a cart with loaves of bread and massive wheels of cheese. Glinda notices one or two of the servants’ entrances, large enough for someone to pass through easily, even laden with things, but cleverly designed to hide in plain sight by a trick of the light or the stonework.

“You’ve seen the staff’s quarters?” Glinda asks Marva.

“Yes, my lady. I daresay they’re as nice as our own estate.”

Glinda nods. At least the Wizard has done something right.

They reach the kitchens, and Glinda has only a moment to observe how it all works. Cooks move from counter to counter, never stopping and hardly looking at what they’re doing. Servers move smoothly through the room with trays or carts, and younger servants rush in and out, gathering dishes or ingredients. Everything seems to work in one fluid motion, fast and loud, but extremely satisfying.

And then it all stops. Every single worker notices them at once—or at least that’s what it feels like—and the room falls still and silent.

“Please, don’t mind us,” Glinda says, her manners taking over. “I’m just having a look around. Don’t let me interrupt your day.”

It’s a useless request, of course, as already the head cook and a few other higher staff have left their stations to come greet her. Glinda doesn’t manage to keep them from bowing or curtsying, but she does ask their names and gets them each to talk a bit about their work and how they came to be there.

The rest of the kitchen has started up again, but a couple of the younger servants—the ones who can be spared—have inched their way over and are staring shyly from behind the little crowd gathered. Glinda beckons them forward to introduce themselves as well.

She learns names, and where they’re from, and how long they’ve been here and where they worked before. She touches their hands and gives them smiles and she’s rewarded with relaxed stances and laughter and a kitchen that is still working just as flawlessly, but now seems to be glowing as it does.

And when they leave—using a servants’ staircase to reach the second floor, just because Glinda is curious to see it—she feels drained. The crowd, though small, had been exhausting and oppressive, and she relishes in the cool darkness of the servants’ passageway far more than she probably should.

They step out onto the second floor, where the halls are a little thinner and much more elegantly decorated. Sherald takes them past guest rooms, a meeting hall, and through the main dining hall. They’re stopped once in a while by servants bowing low or other guests of the palace coming up, eager to greet Glinda, and the more time that passes, the more talkative Sherald gets.

But then they reach the throne room, and something passes over him, dropping the mood.

They peer in through a set of doors connecting the room to a meeting hall, but no one steps over the threshold. Instead, they fall still and quiet, taking in the vast space, empty save for a short set of stairs leading to the vacant throne. It seems larger during the day—not that Glinda is surprised. She remembers thinking it was a bit too much, even in her younger days. The room must be three times the size of the dining hall they just saw. It’s even bigger than the towering entrance hall on the first floor. It’s also brighter than she’s ever seen it, though that isn’t saying much. Even without the dead of night or the Wizard’s theatrics darkening the room, the windows are still thin and set deep within the stone, and the sun creates just as much shadow as it does light.

“We are, of course, forbidden to enter without welcome,” Sherald says, breaking the silence and glancing at her apologetically. “Since it still, technically, belongs to the Wizard.”

Marva leans further through the doorway. “Come now. He’s not even here. We can’t have a look around?”

“Nobody’s allowed without the Wizard’s permission.”

“What, that’s a permanent rule?” Glinda asks. “Not just when he’s accepting visitors?”

“That’s right, my lady.”

_Ridiculous, _she thinks, peering into the room. Perhaps he’s hiding something in there—something more than his plain appearance and façade of power, though that is certainly enough.

She hates it, this massive, dimly hit hall. She stares at the throne and wonders if the Wizard has even really sat there himself, or if he just uses it to prop up his puppets. She wonders if there is anyone who knows the answer.

But then something else catches her eye: the archway at the front of the room, with its heavy, gilded doors. Shut at the moment, but she remembers them being spread open. She remembers stepping into the hall, as empty as it is now. She remembers Elphaba’s impatience, the stern set of her brow, the irritation in her voice as she worried that the moments of waiting would cut into their precious four minute window.

She remembers having to introduce them, and every shallow thing she said after. Telling the Wizard that her plans after Shiz were to get married, and threatening to leave the room if Elphaba kept on her with her radical speech. Had she not said such things, would Elphie have still left her?

“Let’s not linger, then,” she says, cutting off her own thoughts before the pain even fully registers.

“Good idea, my lady.” Sherald leads them away from the doors, back through the meeting hall and to the main staircase.

On the third floor, they walk past the long-term quarters—including Glinda’s—and their accompanying studies, tea rooms, parlours, and the second largest conference hall, which frequently holds dinner meetings, according to Sherald.

“The master bedroom is here, too,” he says, pointing down the hall, “You’ll have your own attached study, as well as a balcony and the entire northwest tower all to yourself.”

The fourth and final floor is largely the same as the third, with the addition of a grand library—Glinda’s favorite part of the tour, though it makes the ache deep in her chest throb—and a room taking up an entire corner of the floor, which Sherald hesitates to take them to.

“It’s the headquarters for the Gale Force,” he tells them. “Only military personnel are allowed in.”

“That’s right,” someone says. Glinda turns to see a boy around Sherald’s age walking down the hall toward him. He’s wearing a green and gold jacket, a rifle at his belt, and a wide, cocky grin. He claps Sherald on the back as he passes, then stops and nods at Glinda. “Lady Glinda.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr—”

The boy introduces himself and immediately starts talking about his experience in the Gale Force, and how he’s just on his way to the room they were discussing, and how the officers have been taking special note of him recently.

Glinda is reminded, vaguely, of Avaric, and she finds herself only half-listening as he rambles on. Marva also seems amused by him, and gives Glinda a warm wink out of the corner of her eyes.

She finds herself looking around them, her mind wandering back to the library, or the balcony attached to the main meeting hall, or the Wizard’s private tower that will soon be hers, connected to every floor of the palace in passageways no one else is allowed access to. She thinks about the wasted space of the throne room, and the foyer and waiting rooms crowded with visitors misplaced by an inefficient system. She looks ahead at the closed off Gale Force headquarters. If she still held any doubt about the things Elphaba feared and raged about, she doesn’t anymore.

A cloud must pass outside, because the hall grows dimmer for a moment. When it brightens again, Glinda realizes they’re standing in the light of an emerald stained glass window. She looks down at the color washing over the hall, then at herself. When she catches a glimpse of her hand, she’s startled to see it a pale shade of green.

_Elphie_.

No.

Not now. Not here.

“Anyway,” the Gale Force boy says, and Glinda feels like she’s dragging the pieces of herself back together, forcing her thoughts to follow her gaze back to him, “I won’t bother you any longer. Wouldn’t want them to miss me back there.”

He gestures over his shoulder at the locked off room, that cocky grin still on his face. Glinda gives him a tight smile.

“No, that wouldn’t be good. It was lovely meeting you.” She means to say his name, but finds that she’s already forgotten it.

He doesn’t seem to notice, just gives them a curt nod goodbye and heads on his way. When he slips into the room, he keeps the door tight around him, allowing them no glance inside.

“Well, my lady,” Sherald says, “You’ve seen the entire palace. What can I do for you now?”

“The entire palace?” She raises an eyebrow. “What about the bottom floors?”

“Pardon?”

“There are underground floors, aren’t there?” It’s just a rumor, of course, the caverns below the palace, stretching out beneath the city in a vast, inescapable prison. But from what she’s seen so far, there’s no way it isn’t true.

“Well, right beneath the first floor is the servants’ floor. It’s nothing special. Our quarters, some stock rooms, cupboards, the like.”

“And below that?”

Sherald glances at the sealed-off room. “Well…”

Glinda touches his arm. She pulls him around gently, and they start walking back down the hall. “You’ll have to forgive me, Sherald, it’s just that I do so enjoy learning about these old buildings. Did you know that, if I hadn’t been a sorceress, I would have studied architecture at Shiz?”

“I didn’t, my lady.” He clears his throat. “There’s another level beneath the servants’ floor. The Gale Force works there. It’s a place for them to train without disturbing the rest of the palace.”

Glinda tilts her head. “I didn’t see any staircases leading down.”

“That’s right. The servants’ floor is accessible only by our entrances, and the Gale Force have their own hallways as well.”

“You don’t know where they are?”

Sherald shifts his feet. “Nobody does. No one except the Gale Force themselves. Some people say that not even the Wizard knows.”

He blushes as soon as he says it. Glinda pats his arm.

“Not to worry, Sherald, I won’t tell anyone you said that.”

“You get the point, though, my lady.”

“I do.” Unfortunately. The entire palace is made of smoke and mirrors, it seems. She’s going to have to shut it down, and fast, if she doesn’t want any of it used against her.

Speaking of.

They’ve turned the corner around the library, and just before the main staircase, at the entrance to one of the meeting halls, is a gathering of a few well-dressed men. Their heads are bent together, their voices hushed and urgent, but at the sight of Glinda and the others the conversation ceases.

“My lady,” the one closest to Glinda says as they draw near. “Enjoying the palace tour?”

“I am, thank you.” Now that they’re closer, Glinda can see more men through the door. Some of them are looking her way, but others have turned away to continue talking.

“That’s good to hear,” the man says. “Gentlemen.”

He gestures into the room, and the entire group steps inside. Glinda smiles pleasantly at them and receives a couple of polite nods in return, but most of them barely look at her. One man gives her a sour look before turning his back completely on her.

“My lady,” Sherald says, and Glinda starts toward the stairs after him. She’s barely taken three steps when she hears the doors to the meeting hall slide shut behind her.

Interesting.

They head back down to the third floor, where a servant is waiting with a dinner invitation from a couple of the palace’s sorceresses. Marva takes one look at Glinda and politely declines, saving her the effort of having to pretend to be too upset for any formal gathering. The servant bows low before rushing off with his answer. Sherald excuses himself as well, leaving Glinda and Marva to walk to her quarters.

“Shall I have a meal brought up to you, my lady?”

Glinda shakes her head. “I’m tired. I think I might just go to bed.”

“You have to eat, dear.”

“I had a late lunch.”

Marva gives her a look.

“Please, Marva. I’ll take better care of myself tomorrow, I promise. Tonight, I just need to rest.”

“At least let me help you get ready for bed, then.”

Glinda pictures Marva drawing a bath for her. She imagines leaning back with her eyes closed as Marva combs shampoo through her hair. The sweet smell of her soaps, and the warm water seeping through her, and a soft nightgown that Marva helps her into before pulling back the covers and allowing her to fall into the giant, fluffy bed.

She’s about to agree and walk inside when she remembers—with a cold chill that darts across her shoulders and down her back—the black cloth tied around her left arm. She feels its weight against her arm and knows she’ll never be able to explain it to Marva.

Would Marva press her for an explanation? Would she tell anyone else about it? She doesn’t know, but she can’t take any chances.

“Thank you, Marva,” she says, “But you’re a housekeeper, not a lady’s maid.”

“Oh, I’ve been a lady’s maid, my dear. I don’t mind. And you know I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

“I know. But I really am fine.” She turns toward the door, but Marva steps forward.

“Are you sure, my lady? Because I—”

“I said I’m fine.” It comes out sharper than Glinda intends, but she doesn’t apologize, either.

Marva steps back again. “Yes, my lady. If you change your mind, you need only call for me.”

Glinda doesn’t have anything to say to that, and she supposes it would be too rude to just go into the room without a word, so she stands there in silence instead.

“Shall I come fetch you again, in the morning?”

“That would be nice. Thank you, Marva.”

“Of course, my lady.”

There’s another pause before, wordlessly, Marva turns and heads down the hallway. Glinda stares after her for another moment.

But only for a moment. After that, she decides she’s done feeling sorry and slips into her room.

It feels smaller, now that she’s seen the rest of the palace. Already she can feel the walls closing in on her. Tomorrow, she’ll ask Marva to accompany her on a walk through the grounds. And she’ll apologize, perhaps. Or perhaps Marva will just know.

For tonight, though, there’s nothing to do but shed her dress and shake out her hair. She stands in a pile of her clothes and touches her fingers to the black strip around her arm. After a moment’s debate, she leaves it and goes to put on her nightgown.

She doesn’t bother with the garments she’s left lying in the middle of the floor, or the powder she can still feel on her face. She leaves it all and crawls into the bed.

It takes a while for her to fall asleep, but when she does, her arms are folded beneath her head, one hand slipped beneath her nightgown, holding onto the tattered little mourning cloth.

-

The next day is gray and dreary, colder than it’s been in months, and as Glinda and Marva make their way through the main courtyard, she’s thankful for the knitted shawl she put on that morning. She twists her fingers through some of the looser holes and pulls it tight around her shoulders. It’s an old thing. Ama Clutch had made it for her when she was accepted into Shiz, and the only reason it hasn’t fallen apart yet is that she was too embarrassed by the dark color and homemade look to wear it until well into her adult years.

Now it makes her feel small, and weary, and she finds Marva moving just a step closer to her as the breeze picks up around them.

“Tell me something, Marva,” she says once they’ve reached a stretch of the grounds free of wandering servants. “What’s going to happen to Chuffrey’s estate?”

“Your estate, my lady,” Marva reminds her. “If you don’t want it—”

“I don’t.”

“Then it will be put up for auction, I imagine.”

“And the staff?”

“Some of the senior members like myself will probably be hired to the new owners, but many of them will likely be let go.”

Glinda frowns at that. “That hardly seems fair.”

“Perhaps not, but that’s how it is. Believe me, we’ve all been there. They’re all expecting it.”

“No,” Glinda says. “No, we’ll hold off the auction. I can think of a better use for the place than that.”

“Now dear, you shouldn’t have to worry about—”

“I’m not worried. I’ve made the decision.” Glinda glances sideways at her. “I did want to ask, though, whether you’d be willing to relocate.”

She sees a smile spread across Marva’s face. “I would be honored, Lady Glinda.”

“Oh, stop that. I’m afraid it might be a demotion. The palace staff seem quite well organized.”

“If I’m serving you, my lady, it could never be a demotion.”

Glinda looks down at her feet. “You’re too kind to me, Marva.”

But Marva just takes her arm and pats her gently. “I’m not sure there’s such a thing. Now come, dear. I believe if we take this corner here, we’ll find ourselves near the stables. Didn’t you used to ride, when you were a girl?”

Glinda did, but though the stables are magnificent, she’s filled with a strange dread as they approach. A young boy stands near the doorway, scooping hay, but he stops what he’s doing and perks up when he sees them.

“My lady,” he says, bowing low and fumbling with the pitchfork as he does so. He stands up again, his eyes bright. “Are you here for a tour? I can get the master.”

“Thank you, but there’s no need for us to interrupt your work.”

“It’s no problem, my lady. Really, he’ll only be upset that he missed you. He’s been speaking quite fondly of you ever since we heard—”

“Are you embarrassing me, boy?” comes a deep, gruff voice from further in.

The boy grins and turns to start shoveling hay again as a stocky man walks toward them. He’s shorter than she expects—though she supposes she of all people shouldn’t judge—with the same sun-darkened skin of the farmers in Munchkinland. He’s also smiling, which is both enhanced by the laugh lines around his eyes and contradicted by the constant furrow in his brow.

“My Lady Glinda,” he greets her. “And Ms. Marva. It’s a pleasure.”

“For us as well,” says Glinda. “Please, don’t let us interrupt your day.”

“Nonsense. We’re not so busy we can’t greet guests when they come along. May I show you around?”

She wants to say no, but it’s not like they have anything else they need to be doing. Besides, it’s warmer inside the stables. So, tucking her reluctance aside, Glinda smiles and allows the stable master to lead them further in.

They pass massive stalls and side rooms and rows of wagons and carriages of every size. The stable master stops at every stall to greet and introduce the horse within, and Glinda feels her dread start to fade.

Until they reach a stall at the end, and even the cheerful stable master pauses and sobers, looking at it.

“This is Mr. Armos,” the stable master says, a bit sour. Glinda frowns, trying to see what’s past the stall door. He hadn’t used an honorific on any of the other horses.

He pushes open the stall, and Glinda suddenly wishes she didn’t know. Inside, standing a good hand taller than any of the others, is—

“You’re a Horse,” Glinda whispers.

Armos strikes the ground with a hoof, his head lowering as he glares at her. Glinda swallows.

“He belongs to the Wizard himself,” says the stable master. Glinda turns to him, an argument already rising in her, but then she sees his face, looking sorrowfully at Armos.

“Why do you keep him here?” she asks instead.

“Wizard’s orders.” He sounds defeated. “If I free him, it’ll be both his head and mine.”

Glinda doesn’t even pause to consider it. “Let him go. See to it that he’s escorted safely out, wherever he wishes to go.” She turns back to Armos. “Though I do recommend getting out of the city.”

Armos studies her for a long moment before slowly nodding. Glinda nods back.

“If anyone questions you, tell them you’re following my orders.”

The stable master nods eagerly. “It will be done, my lady. I’ll see to it myself.”

They leave him to the details of preparing for his journey. Once out of earshot of the stables, Marva gives a little hum.

“Quite a bold first move, my lady.”

“Do you think it’s foolish, Marva?”

“I think it’s brave,” she says. “And I do have to wonder if it can last.”

Glinda thinks of the governors yesterday, greeting her then shutting the door on her. “It will,” she tells Marva. “I’m not here to play games.”

“Indeed not.” There’s a touch of pride in Marva’s voice, along with a dozen other emotions Glinda doesn’t bother to sort out. “I must say, you seem to be handling your situation quite well.”

Glinda chooses her response carefully. “I don’t want to get distracted. I have a job to do, and the chance to do it right. I don’t want to mess it up because I’m grieving, or scared.”

“The people would understand if you were either of those things. After all, you survived an assassination at—”

Marva stops, pressing her lips firmly together. Glinda glances at her.

“Is that what they think it was? An assassin, sent after Chuffrey and I?”

Marva shakes her head. “It’s dreadful conversation, my dear, let’s—”

“Oh, spare me. You know better than that. Just tell me.”

The old woman scowls, but after a long pause and an even longer sigh, she starts talking.

“That’s what the Gale Force believes, yes. An assassin of some kind—probably sent by some sad remnant of the old resistance. And they guess he was after you specifically. To stop you from taking the throne.”

“And now?”

“You’re perfectly safe within the palace, my dear. Don’t you even worry about it.”

She wasn’t, and she’ll continue to not. Satisfied, Glinda lets Marva lead them on.

They fall to silence as they wind their way around the palace. There aren’t many people wandering the grounds, and the ones they do come across seem to be in a hurry, nodding or bowing slightly as they pass but always rushing on to whatever they need to be doing.

Glinda feels a little odd, walking around with nothing to do, but she’s enjoying the quiet and emptiness too much to suggest going back in. And she knows Marva is content to walk beside her for as long as she wants. Besides, all too soon—if today’s weather is anything to go by—it’ll be too cold to leave the palace and wander aimlessly.

So they keep going. They find a covered walkway cutting into the palace, and they take that through to one of the gardens. Everything is still in full bloom, but Glinda’s pretty sure it would look lovely in the dead of winter, too. Evergreen trees dot the yard, their branches reaching far enough to cover the walkway winding between them. She pictures the garden piled with snow, and thinks of the warming spell she used to cast at Shiz so they could all hang out on campus, even in the bitter cold, and decides it could be a good place to get some fresh air when she needs to be alone.

Planning escape routes already. Glinda frowns, but decides not to think too hard on the implications.

“They say the young Dorothy girl is due back in tonight,” Marva says. Glinda looks over at her, then straight ahead.

“She’s had a long journey, the poor thing.”

“A hard one, too. I don’t know what the Wizard was thinking, sending a little girl to—” She cuts herself off, glancing around at the palace walls.

As if on cue, a door opens halfway down the walkway they had come from. She feels Marva tense beside her, but it’s only a servant boy, who brightens when he sees them.

“Lady Glinda,” he says, nearly stumbling over himself to get to them fast enough, “a message for you.”

He hands her a letter—an invite, from the look of it—and bows low before hurrying off again. When he’s out of earshot, Marva sighs.

Glinda pats her arm. “You always speak your mind, dear Marva. I admire that about you.”

“It can be a dangerous thing, my lady.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Well?” Marva asks, nodding to the letter in her hand. “What was the boy so anxious to give you?”

Glinda slips her finger beneath the seal and cracks it open. She unfolds it and reads quickly, Marva staring politely in some other direction.

“An invite from the governors,” she says, mostly to herself. “They’re meeting tomorrow morning.”

“They expect you so soon?” Marva’s voice is sharp. “After what happened?”

Glinda nods. “It’s like you said. The Dorothy girl needs to be sent home. The Wizard is leaving us. There’s too much that needs to be done.”

Marva touches her shoulder. Her voice is soft. “It’s important to grieve, you know.”

Glinda closes her eyes and turns her head away. “Perhaps, but that doesn’t mean I have the time for it.”

“Lady Glinda—”

But Glinda shrugs her off and keeps walking. She only takes a step or two, and after a moment she feels Marva beside her again, but that doesn’t change the fact that the air feels a touch colder around them. The rest of their walk is spent in silence.

-

When Marva knocks on her door the next morning to help get her ready for the meeting with the governors, Glinda is already dressed and sitting at the vanity, pulling a brush through her hair.

“I have to be honest, my lady,” Marva says, coming up behind her in the mirror, “I’m starting to wonder why you asked me to stay at all.”

Glinda gives her a reassuring smile. “Forgive me, Marva. I was too nervous to go back to sleep, so I gave myself something to do.”

“Oh, you don’t need my forgiveness, dear. Although I do find it curious, all these dark colors you’ve been wearing.”

Glinda looks down at her dress. “I’m hoping it’ll help me to be taken more seriously.”

“They’d be fools to do anything else,” says Marva, easing the brush from her hand. “Now tell me, is there anything special you’d like done with your hair?”

“I think it’s best to keep it plain today.”

“Of course, dear. And what about tonight? Will you be needing my assistance?”

“Tonight?” Glinda looks up at her in the mirror.

“For the Tenmeadows’ party, my lady. You don’t remember? Everyone’s been talking about it.”

Glinda closes her eyes. “To send the Wizard off. Yes, of course. How silly of me.”

Marva makes a noise in the back of her throat at the mention of the Wizard. “I’m sure it’s forgivable, considering your circumstances.”

“Would it also be forgivable, then, if I said I’m not going?”

“Well, that’s not my place to say, my lady. But I do believe others would be understanding.”

“Then you have your answer.”

Marva gives a little hum, and then the brush is pulling gently through her hair again. For a moment, there’s quiet.

“The staff have been gossiping this morning,” Marva says eventually.

“Oh? What about?”

“They’re saying the Wizard is already gone. Fled the city.”

Glinda closes her eyes and forces down her smile. “On the night the Dorothy girl returns? That seems a bit odd, don’t you think?”

“Sure, but some think he’s actually been gone for days now. He’s quite private, you know. He could be missing for a while without anyone noticing.”

“And what do you think, Marva?”

She clicks her tongue. “I suppose I don’t care either way, but between you and me, I do see it as quite rude that he never met with you.”

“How do you know he never met with me?”

Marva touches the back of her head. “Because, child, I know you. I think I’d be able to tell if you met the Wizard himself.”

Glinda stares into the mirror, at Marva smiling down at her. “I suppose that’s true.”

Not much later, Glinda finds herself alone, walking down one of the halls toward what she hopes is the third floor meeting hall. She could have asked for an escort, but it’s going to be hard enough to gain these politicians’ respect without admitting she’s literally lost. Besides, she recognizes some of these paintings. And there—left down this hall, she remembers that tapestry. This is the place.

She’s not the last one to arrive, thank goodness, but there are a fair amount of men already there, and they all fall silent as she steps into the room. Just like the other day, most of them don’t acknowledge her. One or two nod her way or even smile, and a younger looking gentleman steps around to pull out the seat at the head of the table for her. Once she’s there, though, the room remains quiet. Glinda sits and smoothes her dress over her legs. She can feel everyone’s eyes on her. She can practically hear the conversations they cut short as she walked in.

But she bides her time, and carefully tucks her nerves aside, and soon enough everyone is gathered and sitting around the long, gleaming table that takes up most of the space in the room.

“Lady Glinda,” the man on her right starts. He is not, she notes, one of the men who acknowledged her when she walked in. “Thank you for joining us. Since this is so new, and given the unfortunate circumstances of your arrival, I assume I may be bold enough to take command of this meeting.”

Glinda smiles pleasantly. “I won’t pretend to know what I’m doing, sir. Please, go on.”

“Thank you, Lady. Shall we start with introductions?”

Glinda nods—as if he’s waiting for her answer anyway—and for a while the room falls to the slow, quiet trickle of introductions. She pays almost no attention to anyone’s names and only vaguely notes their titles. A governor here, ambassador there, a Gale Force officer, and next to him sits his retired superior.

What she focuses on instead is the way they look at her. This one leans forward, making eye contact when he speaks to her. This one is merely staring through her. This one sounds bored, or haughty, or patronizing. This one is quiet, reserved. Glinda catalogues every detail, every tiny shift in posture or tone as they address her, and files it all away for when she’ll need it.

Because she will need it. That much is painfully clear as the man at her right speaks again. He angles his head slightly away from her and jumps straight into business.

“Forgive me,” Glinda says before he has more than a sentence out. She takes care to keep her expression plain as the room turns to her with various levels of surprise. “While I am perfectly happy with you stepping up while I’m still learning, don’t you think it’s best to show me how this works, rather than skipping straight to business without me?”

His face doesn’t move, but his shoulders stiffen. “Of course, Lady. My apologies. What would you like to know about these proceedings?”

“I’m afraid I’m still not acquainted with how this board is organized. Which of you speaks for Gillikin?”

“All of us, Lady. Every one of us has Gillikin’s best interests at heart.”

“I see. What about the Vinkus, then? And Quadling Country? Munchkinland?”

“We all do. Together, we serve all the different parts of Oz.”

Glinda takes them all in, these men who are nodding, or rolling their eyes. Their light skin and fair hair, the military cut to their shoulders or the thick bellies beneath expensive clothes, every last bit of strength and wealth and privilege—this is what’s been representing all the different people of Oz. There is a part of her, deep in the back of her mind, that can feel Elphaba seething.

“As I suspected,” she says calmly. “I apologize for the interruption. Please, do continue.”

“Perhaps we should start with our most pressing matter, and one that concerns you directly,” the man next to her says. “Young Dorothy has returned, but we have no way to send her home.”

“Because the Wizard has vanished,” Glinda says. His eyebrows raise in mild surprise.

“Yes. Precisely.”

“My dear sir, are you asking me if I can send her back?”

He tilts his head toward her. “Can you?”

She considers it. The Wizard, surely, had no real plan for sending the girl back, but is there anything she can do? There are those shoes. Glinda remembers enchanting them for Nessarose, years ago. They proved to be a remarkable vessel for magic. Perhaps there’s something in that, and in the bizarre weather that brought Dorothy here in the first place.

An idea starts to knit together in the back of her head, just as Glinda realizes this means she’ll have to meet with Dorothy. The thought makes her stomach drop. It isn’t the girl’s fault, surely, but she still stands at the center of Elphaba’s death. She might even be the last person to have seen Elphaba alive.

“I think I know a way,” she says, realizing that they’re still waiting on an answer. “Yes, I can do it.”

Glinda wants nothing to do with her. That much she knows. But no one else can send her home, and someone needs to get rid of her before she somehow murders the youngest Thropp sibling as well.

“Then we have no problem with her farewell ceremony being this evening,” one of them said. “It’s a bit of a rush, but the poor girl just wants to get home.”

Glinda nods. “Yes. I think that’s for the best.”

“I’ll notify the staff,” another man says. “If you’ll excuse me, my lady.”

He stands and steps out into the hall for a minute. When he returns, the man on Glinda’s right folds his hands on top of the table.

“Right. Moving on, then. We wanted to discuss some of the details of your transition, Lady Glinda.”

“Naturally,” Glinda says. “What did you have in mind?”

“Your inauguration, of course, is already being planned for next week. That will give us a few days for the Dorothy situation to cool down, and for all the announcements to be made. Once that’s taken care of, we can move you into the Wiz—into your quarters, rather—and from there begins the usual public appearances, tours of the city, and your open meeting days.”

“Open meeting days?”

“When the public can make appointments to see you. We open the throne room to visitors with petty complaints, appeals, the odd upstart who thinks they have a world-changing idea. You get the point.”

Glinda leans forward. “Yes. About that—”

He waves a hand. “We’ll get to it, Lady. First, we should discuss the future of Sir Chuffrey’s estate.”

“My estate,” Glinda says, a touch colder than before. “And I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“We just see it as something of importance, auctioning off such a significant manor.”

“I suppose it would be, but unfortunately I’ve decided against putting it up.”

For the first time this entire meeting, he leans forward and meets her eyes. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m not selling the estate,” she says. “It will stay in my name, along with all of the staff there.”

“And what, may I ask, do you plan on doing with an empty manor?”

She lifts her chin. “It will be turned into an orphanage.”

It’s not something she’s thought out, but the idea does make sense. And—from the way many of the men at the table are now shifting in their seats—it doesn’t sit well with the room. That’s all she needs to convince her it’s right.

“The city already has a fine orphanage,” someone says.

“An orphanage, yes, but not a fine one.”

“My lady, I assure you, it’s a perfectly nice, well-funded building. There’s no need for another.”

“When’s the last time you visited?” Glinda asks. She glances around the table. “Any of you? Because I was there just a couple months ago, and I assure you, there is absolutely need for this.”

“With all due respect, Lady Glinda, you have too much to worry about now to manage an orphanage.”

“I can delegate.”

The man on the right shakes his head. “We’re not wasting our staff on this.”

Glinda gives him her most charming smile. “I’m sorry, perhaps I was not clear enough. This is what I’ve decided. My estate _will_ be turned into an orphanage.”

“Perhaps we should table this discussion for now. We—”

“I’m not finished,” says Glinda, sitting taller now. “The throne room, too—as I was saying earlier, before I was interrupted—is going to change. It’s a waste, closing off such a large space for one person. We will convert it into a shelter for the city’s homeless instead.”

“An honorable notion, Lady, but a ridiculous one.”

“And why is that?”

“It can’t be done.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

He gives a short, dry chuckle. “This is why we’re here, my Lady. To save you from your own naiveté.”

“I appreciate that, sir, but it’s entirely unnecessary. The throne room will become a shelter, and my estate will become an orphanage. And both will be fully funded by the palace.”

Silence. Glinda sits still, listening hard, waiting to see if she’s won.

But then, somewhere down the table, one of them snorts—actually _snorts_—and just like that, the room erupts in laughter. Every one of them, these men who had been so stiff and restrained before, is suddenly animated. Their howls echo against the walls and ring in her ears.

Glinda waits for the blood to rush to her cheeks and the hot prickle of shame to creep down her neck, but it doesn’t come. She feels cold. Cold, and quiet, and trembling. Her hands curl into tight fists against her thighs. Her jaw clenches so tight she feels it start to ache. Magic races through her veins, prickling her skin and waking her senses, and it feels cold, too.

That takes her by surprise. Her magic has always been warm. She makes a mental note of it, wondering what it means, and it’s enough of a distraction that she can take a deep breath and settle into a sort of calm. Calm, and alert, and cold.

The laughter is starting to fade. The man closest to her is still smiling, his eyes dancing, but he holds up a hand and the rest of the noise dies down.

“I appreciate your spirit, my dear, and we were all overdue for a good laugh, I think.”

“I don’t see why this is so funny to you, sir.”

Some of the men catch the edge in her voice and sit straighter. Out of the corner of her eyes, she sees a few heads turn anxiously between them.

“You can of course do what you will with your estate, but you’ll see soon enough that selling it is the best option. Now, moving right along. We have—”

Glinda’s ears are ringing too much for her to hear what he says next, but it doesn’t matter. Before he can get far, his chair flies out from under him, crashing into the far wall. He cries out as he hits the floor. A soldier on his other side starts to stand and help him, just as the windows darken and a fierce wind shoots down the table. The soldier slowly lowers himself back into his chair.

Everyone has frozen. She can feel their eyes on her, even in the unnatural dark—an unintentional but welcome side effect to the spell—and when she speaks, she feels no need to raise her voice. They’re all listening.

“The orphanage and the shelter will be made, and they’ll be funded through this government,” she says. “They won’t be the last of their kind, either. But this will be the last time I am mocked for my plans. Do we have an agreement, gentlemen?”

As she finishes, the wind fades and the room fills with light again. Glinda looks at each of them in turn, ending with the man on the floor next to her. He nods.

“Excellent.” Glinda waves her hand, and his chair returns to him. He climbs shakily to his feet and sits down again. “Now. What was our next order of business?”

-

It’s late when Glinda retreats to her chambers that night. Even if she’d planned to attend Avaric and Shenshen’s party, there’s nothing in the world that could convince her now. Her feet are dragging, she can feel the marks her dresses have left in her skin, and her cheeks ache from the tight smile she’s had on all evening.

And she’s mad.

She thinks she should be pleased with herself. After that show this morning, not a single person on the board of governors questioned her for the rest of the meeting. The send-off ceremony, too, was a success. The people had been overjoyed to see her and Dorothy—even without the Wizard there—and she’d impressed even herself with the spell it took to send the girl home.

But the way Dorothy _looked _at her. Like she was guilty, and only Glinda could absolve her. As if she knew, as if she had _any idea _what she’d actually done.

It makes her livid, even now. Elphaba did not turn around and forgive her, back in Munchkinland, nor had she ever forgiven herself for anything. And Glinda—what forgiveness could Glinda give? Even if that’s what Dorothy was asking from her, how could she do it? Elphaba is gone. She’s dead, vanished, and anything Glinda could offer has disappeared with her.

She stops in the middle of her room, out of breath, and that’s when she realizes she’d been pacing. She feels like Elphie, and she nearly doubles over with the pain of that thought.

She can’t do this. She can’t be in this room, alone, and she certainly can’t be around anyone in the palace.

The rest of her belongings have been brought over by now, and she falls onto her wardrobe in a whirlwind, tearing through all of the stupid, frilly dresses until she finds her travelling cloak. She changes quickly and yanks the pins out of her hair so it lies plain around her head. Then she digs out a sturdy pair of boots and searches for a suitably dark scarf. There’s no black—she really is starting to curse herself for that—but she finds one the color of red wine and wraps it around her neck, lifting the fabric to rest on the bridge of her nose.

Once again, it’s all too easy to sneak past the palace staff. It helps, of course, that most everyone is either attending the Tenmeadows’ party or retired for the night. She makes it outside, off the grounds, and into the streets of the city with no problems.

And then she starts walking. She keeps her head down, hood up, and crosses her arms tightly over her chest. The buildings here are gorgeous, the streets wide and clean, but this isn’t where she wants to be.

She heads toward the lower districts.

If only Elphaba could see her now. Disguising herself to pass by unrecognized, sneaking out of the rich safety of her society. She’d laugh, surely. She’d call Glinda a fool.

And if she’d seen her earlier? Using her magic to intimidate those in power, demanding the government do something for those who needed help. Elphaba would be surprised, certainly. Would she be proud?

Elphaba, Elphaba, Elphaba. She feels like Elphaba, now more than ever with her face covered and her cloak drawn tight. Which of these streets did Elphaba used to wander? Did she buy from the abandoned stall here? Hide from a passing soldier in that corner?

She doesn’t realize how deep in the slums she’s gotten until she sees someone, out of the corner of her eye, push off a building to watch her pass. Glinda slows down and listens hard. Someone else, on the other side of the street, has stepped out from his alleyway and is walking along behind her.

Did Elphaba ever look for her? Did she ever see Glinda around the city—she wouldn’t have been hard to find, really—and follow her? Just for a moment, for whatever reason. Or did she catch a glimpse of Glinda on a night like this, walking desperately through neighborhoods she shouldn’t be in? Surely Elphaba would have followed her then, just to see that she got home safely. But if she was there, why didn’t she say anything? And why couldn’t Glinda find her?

There are more men, now. She can hear their footsteps behind her and voices in an alley not too far ahead. It’s starting to annoy her. Elphaba would have lost them, or chased them off by now, but Glinda can’t be bothered. She doesn’t have the energy to waste on them. She just wants to be left alone.

Alone with Elphaba, who surely swept through these streets, dressed just like this, filled with just as much fury, and heartache, and despair.

“Where’re you going, darling?”

Glinda looks up and comes to a halt. Two men stand in front of her. The others are still behind her. It’s too dark to see just how many, but she knows she’s outnumbered. She knows any girl in her right mind would be terrified.

“Odd outfit for such a pretty little thing,” says the first man. “What’re you hiding in there?”

So smug. So patronizing. Like the governors this morning. Like Chuffrey, grabbing her and pulling her in for a kiss.

Like Avaric, when he was drunk and trying to drag them all to some scandalous show. Except, Avaric never touched her. He wouldn’t dare. He tried, once, when he was so far gone he wouldn’t have even remembered, had it not been for Elphaba making some extremely graphic threats about his manhood.

“Well, darling?” asks one of the men behind her. “You out here all alone or what?”

_“Elphie, please.” Glinda wasn’t feeling too stable herself, and she nearly fell over as she attempted to tug Elphaba away from him._

_“I swear to every god that has ever been conceived, Avaric, if you ever fucking come near her again—”_

_“Such language from a lady,” he drawled, but the façade vanished as Elphaba shrugged Glinda off and stepped closer, looming over him._

“Hey.” They’re closer now, all of them. “We’re talking to you, darling.”

She meets the eyes of the man standing directly in front of her. “Fuck. Off.”

Laughter. It echoes off the buildings around them. She feels magic start to trickle down her spine, like the cold sweat of a fever.

_“Elphaba.” Glinda placed her hand on the small of Elphaba’s back and immediately felt her soften. “Come on. He won’t bother us anymore. Please, let’s just go home.”_

_She knew Elphaba would agree, even before she turned to look gently at her. _

_“It’s okay, my sweet,” she said, and her voice was so low Glinda wondered if any of the others heard it. “Let’s go.”_

_Elphaba put her arm around her, and Glinda closed her eyes and leaned into the touch. So warm. So solid. So Elphaba._

His hand is on her, trying to grab her wrist. She jerks away.

“Don’t touch me!”

More laughter, ringing in her ears. Blood pounding in her ears. She feels the others closing in on her. Feels the heat off their bodies, feels them reaching for her—

_“Ah, I get it now,” called Avaric, some of his swagger returning. “Miss Glinda is clearly already taken.”_

Another hand, pressing against her back, and Glinda feels something within her snap.

_She didn’t even have time to react. Before she knew it, Elphaba was gone again, and Avaric was crumbling to the floor, groaning and holding himself. _

_“She’s not taken by anyone, you chauvinistic piece of shit. She does not and will never belong to anyone. Do you understand? Say you understand!”_

They’re groaning now. Groaning and stumbling away from her, if they aren’t already collapsed against the nearest building. Glinda stands there for a moment, coming back to herself, but she can’t piece together what happened.

She doesn’t bother to. She just starts down the street once more.

Someone cries out, right in front of her, and Glinda pauses. One of the men is crumbled on the ground, just before her feet. He’s huddled over, holding his leg at an awkward angle. In the dim, flickering light of the street lamps, she can just make out the stain on his clothes, seeping through from between his fingers. He trembles, whimpering beneath her.

Glinda steps around him and walks on.

_“Elphie.” _

_For a moment, Elphaba stayed there, towering over him, her shoulders rising and falling as she seethed. But then she stepped back, her hand reaching for Glinda’s, and the two of them turned and left him there._


	3. Chapter Two

_I move through town, I’m quiet like a fight_

_And my necklace is of rope, I tie it and untie it_

_And now people talk to me, but nothing ever hits home_

_People talk to me, and all the voices just burn holes_

_I’m done with it_

\---

With Dorothy out of the city and the Wizard quickly vanishing from everyone’s minds, Glinda finds the preparations for her to take the throne resuming in earnest. She meets with the board of governors again—it goes much differently this time, with less laughter and more productivity, in her opinion. She hires contractors to begin work on her manor and meets with her old staff to tell them they all have jobs at the new orphanage, should they want to stay. Most of them do.

A couple days before her inauguration ceremony, she finds herself at the finest seamstress in the city. She stands on a raised platform as three girls with mouths full of pins buzz around her. The seamstress herself stands at a counter nearby, her hand flying over the sketch she’s been working on since the moment Glinda walked in.

“Do you know what color you want, Lady Glinda?”

Glinda doesn’t want any color. She glances around the shop, looking for a suitable answer, but everything she sees is glaringly bright. Pinks and blues and yellows swim before her eyes, and she has to stop and take a breath before she wavers and falls off the platform.

“Green,” she says after a moment. It’s the first thing that doesn’t sicken her. “Emerald, to match the city.”

“An excellent choice.”

“But dark.” Glinda raises her chin. “I want the people to know they can take me seriously.”

The seamstress pauses in her sketch and looks up to meet Glinda’s eyes. “Let me see what I can find.”

She runs off, delving into some far corner of the shop. Glinda does her best to stand still and stare at one piece of the wall and not let her mind wander too far. This afternoon she’s having tea with a pair of sorceresses who have worked at the palace for nearly a decade. The governors are still hesitant about remodeling the throne room, but Glinda has a few spells in mind that could prove useful. She just needs a second opinion—and someone in her corner when she ignores the board and casts them anyway.

Then it’s dinner with a few of the guests visiting the palace: the superior maunt from the Cloister of St. Glinda, a retired professor from Shiz, and a pair of journalists, probably looking to get a story out ahead of her inauguration. As if there aren’t enough of those already. Every day she feels like she’s hearing something new about herself. There’s even a rumor going around that Dorothy was her daughter, and that’s why Glinda had such a soft spot for her.

“Here we are,” says the seamstress, reappearing in Glinda’s field of vision. “Tell me what you think of this.”

She holds out a square of fabric for Glinda to take. It’s a good material, pleasant and sturdy, but even if it wasn’t Glinda would still say yes. The color is darker than she expected. In fact, she can only really tell that it’s green when it hits the light.

“Perfect.” She looks up at the seamstress. “Thank you.”

The woman takes the fabric back, grasping Glinda’s hand for just a moment as she does so. “It’s my absolute pleasure, Your Goodness.”

The rest of the morning passes in a rush, and Glinda’s in the middle of tea with the sorceresses almost before she realizes time has passed.

It keeps happening like this. She spends so much time going over the day in her mind, and all that she has to do, but when the moment arrives she hardly knows she’s there. She’s just thinking about the next thing to be done.

“It’s a big change,” Marva told her a couple nights before. “You’ve got a lot going on, what with all your meetings and the inauguration and Sir Ch—well, a lot’s happened recently. But you’ll settle in soon enough.”

Glinda isn’t so sure. The inauguration, her estate, remodeling the throne room, keeping the governors in line. Then there’s the Gale Force, working in their secret corners of the palace. And that’s all just what she learned on her first day. What else has the Wizard done? What else lies ahead of her?

Even her inauguration isn’t as simple as it seems. She’ll have to put on a brave face for the people, while at the same time accepting their pity for the death of a man she couldn’t care less about.

She’s lonely, she realizes, halfway through tea. Here she is, sitting with two women who have something in common with her, feeling like she’s the only person in the entire city. Maybe in all of Oz.

“You have quite the mind for this, dear,” one of the sorceresses says.

Glinda blinks and turns to her with a smile. “Why thank you. You know, I almost considered studying architecture instead of sorcery.”

The woman tuts. “Good thing you didn’t. What’s a pretty young girl going to do with that sort of knowledge?”

Glinda’s smile tightens. “Remodel a palace, perhaps?”

The second woman taps the spell book sitting on the table between them. “Yes, but we’re using _magic _for that, aren’t we?”

“Still,” says the first woman, “It is impressive. I admit I had wondered why the governors were letting you do this, but now that I’ve seen your plans it all makes sense.”

“And may we say, you’re off to a remarkable start here,” the second woman says, leaning in conspiratorially. “If this is anything to go by, I can’t wait to see what you have in store for this city.”

“Not just the city,” Glinda says. “But for all of Oz.”

“Such big plans, dear. It’s admirable, truly.”

Glinda sits back in her chair. She’s not sure if the woman is being skeptical or approving, but she doesn’t need either. They’re on board with the plans for the throne room, so for all she cares, this meeting is over. She’s already moved on to the next thing.

-

The morning of her inauguration dawns misty and cool, and still Glinda hasn’t gotten any sleep. She pushes herself out of bed at first light and shuffles over to her vanity. She’s under strict orders from Marva to leave everything to the team of servants tasked with preparing her for the day, but that doesn’t stop her from dabbing powder over her face. No one needs to know the circles beneath her eyes are this dark.

While she waits for them to arrive, she sits and studies the rest of the room. All of her things will be moved during the ceremony. She wonders if there are servants in the Wizard’s chambers now, cleaning it from top to bottom, remaking the beds, ensuring that all the paintings are hung perfectly straight. She wonders what the room will look like. Bigger than this, obviously. Too big? Too empty? Will she finally feel like she belongs here, like this is her new permanent home? Or will she still feel lonely, drifting, like she’ll never have anything permanent again.

Not that it matters. The size of her chambers, how her stuff is arranged—who cares? Even her own feelings aren’t as important as the work she has to do. She can change Oz. She _will_. And until that happens, everything else is just a distraction.

This ceremony is a distraction, too, but it’s one she must pay attention to. The members of the palace know she means business; it’s time to prove that to the rest of the city. They’ve been wondering if she’s scared, or overwhelmed, or too hung up over her late husband to do what they hope she can do. Today, they’ll get their answer, and, if all goes well, she’ll get their undying support.

The thought makes her smile, just a little, to herself. Someone knocks at her door, and she calls for them to enter. Soon she’s surrounded by ladies in waiting, showing her the dress she ordered and the endless makeup and jewels they brought her to go with it. Of course it will go well. This is the easy part. The city loves her, and its love comes freely, blindly. She’s not sure she could ruin it if she tried.

A few hours later, Glinda sits in a plush carriage just inside the palace gates. Thick blinds have been pulled down over the windows, but she can still feel the thousands of people outside, gathered around the palace entrance. One of the governors is speaking, his voice magically resonating over the constant murmuring of the crowd. She only vaguely pays attention to his words. A new era, change for the better, time for them all to move on to a different and grander Oz.

She was given words to say, too, but she politely handed the speech cards back. If she’s going to address the people, then it’s going to be with her own words. These people have had enough of facades, and she’s had enough of puppetry.

Glinda frowns and touches the page tucked into her dress. Perhaps she should add that. Or maybe not. Maybe it’s too forward for them.

Her hand drifts across the front of her dress to her sleeve, where, as always, the strip of black is tied around her arm. Even if she were alive, though, Elphaba wouldn’t be here with her. She hated crowds almost as much as she hated formalities, and it would still be too dangerous for her to be so close to the public.

Still, Glinda lets herself imagine, just for a moment, that Elphie is here. She’s watching from a nearby rooftop, or a balcony tucked around the side of the palace. She’s blending in the shadows of the trees and she’s smirking at the mindless crowd, smiling at Glinda, at the words she wrote, at the things she’s trying to do.

Her fingers are digging into her sleeve. Glinda forces her eyes open. Her hand trembles as she releases her arm and smoothes the wrinkles she created.

The governor’s voice changes. He’s getting ready to present her. She hears the footsteps of a Gale Force officer approaching the carriage door. Glinda takes a breath. Pinches her cheeks. The blood rushes to her ears, or maybe that’s just the roaring of the crowd.

She doesn’t hear him say her name. She’s not sure what he says, actually, but the door is opening, so it’s time to step out. The officer standing there offers his hand and helps her to the ground. He starts to walk her to the stage they’ve set up, too, but Glinda lets him go and moves on her own up the stairs and into the center of the platform. She hears cheering. She sees glitter in the air.

Somewhere, deep within the throng of people, a chant starts up. It catches on quickly, spreading and growing until it’s the only thing Glinda hears, the only thing anyone can hear for miles. _Glinda the Good. Glinda the Good. _

_Your Goodness, _the Wizard had called her. The seamstress, too. She doesn’t know where it came from. She imagines Elphaba scoffing. But she doesn’t care. If you’re good, people like you. If people like you, you can get things done.

Glinda might not be happy here. She might feel fake, and trapped, and heavy with the weight of every horror this nation has caused. But if she’s the one who can change things, then she will. At the end of the day, that’s the only thing that matters.

-

As soon as the ceremony is over, Glinda is back in her carriage, this time with a governor, a couple of guards, and, at her insistence, the windows open. 

It takes some time for them to get away from the palace. A guard of twenty or so Gale Force is stationed on horseback around the carriage, with more men on foot trying to keep the crowd at bay, but it’s almost useless. The governor, sitting across from Glinda, grumbles about how having the windows open to the city is making things worse. She smiles at him and says nothing.

Eventually they have room to move, and once they’re in motion it’s easy enough to keep going. Even the governor, with his stern look and quiet _hmph_ every now and then, can’t find much to complain about. Not with the way the carriage rolls smoothly through the streets, and the benches they sit on are as comfortable as any of the seats in the palace, and the cheers of the crowd still follow them as they make their way through the city. The carriage is secure and warm and everywhere Glinda looks beyond the window someone is there waving to her.

She waves back, smiling automatically. Pretty soon they’re far enough from the palace grounds that the governor sits forward and starts pointing things out to her.

“There’s the bank that handles all the palace’s financials, Your Goodness. That complex, there? That’s the Glades. A lot of meetings are held there, and many of the ambassadors from across Oz stay there when they visit the city.”

Glinda resists the urge to roll her eyes. And over there is the shop of the seamstress who made her dress. And down that street is the row of restaurants that provide both fine dining and under-the-table dealings for the wealthy men of the city. If they turn south here, they’ll be heading toward her own estate. East is the Tenmeadows’. This isn’t even the part of the city she knows best.

She wonders what would happen if they kept going until they were in the lower districts, and she finds herself genuinely smiling at the thought of this governor’s face as she points out those buildings. There’s the blacksmith who tries his hand at bomb-making in his spare time. That baker and his wife have a hidden spare room, used for hiding fugitives and, at one point, helping Animals and Munchkins safely escape the city. Down that street is an old corn exchange, out of business for decades, that’s rumored to once have been a hideout for the Witch.

The governor shifts on his bench. He leans forward ever so casually and points out the window at the stately, well-trimmed manors that line the road. “This one here is mine. You know, my lady would love to have you over for tea some time.”

Glinda nods absently. She’s not even sure which house he’s pointed to. “It’s lovely,” she tells him anyway.

“Inherited it from my father.” His chest puffs out as he says it. “He was in the Gale Force, you know. Part of their original ranks.”

“Was he now?”

“Yes, Your Goodness. He was a well-respected man. Had to have been, to be able to afford such a fine estate, and an even finer education for my brother and I.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Do you see money and respect as synonyms, then, Governor?”

He at least has the manners to look sheepish. “I suppose they shouldn’t be, Your Goodness.”

Glinda nods again and returns to looking out the window.

-

They’re out for most of the afternoon, and when they finally arrive back at the palace, Glinda is greeted by Sherald, who bows low and offers to show her to her new rooms.

“All of your belongings are waiting for you there,” he says as he leads her up to the third floor. “We do hope you’ll find everything to your liking. The board of governors have commissioned a new tapestry, as well, threaded with silver and gold and made by the finest weavers in the city. A gift, for your inauguration.”

To the governors’ credit, it’s gorgeous. She’d been expecting to see something excessive and gaudy when she entered the room. Instead, she sees an elegant silhouette of the city, standing bold and gleaming beneath the light of a full moon, hanging low in a midnight blue sky. She walks over to the wall the tapestry hangs on, examining the way they’ve woven shadows between the green of the buildings. If she looks hard enough for long enough, she can almost see people wandering through, going about their dark businesses. Perhaps somewhere, blending in with the night, is an angry green girl on a broomstick, her cloak flying behind her as she disappears into the dark.

Glinda blinks and takes a step back. Behind her, Sherald clears his throat.

“I hope it meets your approval.”

“It’s stunning,” she says softly. Well-placed, too—not so immediate as to demand attention the moment you enter the room, but striking enough to gather notice if you spend any amount of time there. “I’ll have to give them my thanks next time we meet.”

“I’m sure they’ll be pleased to hear that, Your Goodness. Is there anything else you need, before I leave you?”

Glinda considers asking him to send Marva. Now that she’s taking in the rest of the room, she feels horribly small. Perhaps having another person in here might make it a little more bearable.

Then again, Marva will only make attempts at conversation, and gush about how lovely these chambers are, and insist on helping Glinda ready for bed, so maybe she wouldn’t be any help after all. She thinks she understands, just a little, why the Wizard was such a private person. Perhaps it’s best to keep her rooms a place for herself and her thoughts and little else.

“Would you tell the kitchen staff I’ll be taking dinner in my room? Other than that, I would prefer not to be disturbed for the rest of the night.”

“Yes, Your Goodness. I’ll make sure of it.”

She touches his arm. “Thank you.”

“Y-yes, Your Goodness.” His cheeks darken as he gives a little bow and leaves the room.

The door shuts behind him, leaving Glinda to standing alone in the middle of her new chambers, taking them in.

It’s darker than she had anticipated. Even in the places that are clearly designed to show off—the trim in the corners of the walls, a massive chaise lounge, the ornate chest at the foot of the bed—there is an air of seriousness. Silver detailing stands smartly against dark, gleaming wood, or paints and fabrics of the deepest shades of green and blue and purple. It makes the room feel cool and grave and Glinda’s relieved because already she feels more comfortable here than anywhere else in the palace.

To her right the room narrows into a hall. Glinda follows it and finds two doorways: one leading to a master bathroom, and the other to an even larger study, filled with a beautiful desk, a cozy looking armchair in one corner, and a set of bookshelves that take up the entirety of one wall. She recognizes several of them, but she knows she doesn’t own nearly as many as it would take to fill those shelves. Making a mental note to return later, she closes the door again and returns to the bedroom.

The sight of the bed, giant and soft with the covers pulled back and waiting for her, is painfully tempting. She doesn’t even remember if she slept last night. But there’s still more to explore, so Glinda turns away from it and walks over to the doors leading out to the balcony. She peers out but decides against opening them. There’s no telling many people can see her when she steps out, and she’s had enough of the public for one day.

Instead, she walks along the wall, past the bed and to a door tucked into the corner of the room. She opens it to reveal a small landing along a dark, winding staircase. Her own private tower, Sherald had said when he showed them around.

Glinda steps out onto the landing and looks down. It’s too dark to see anything. She looks up instead, and at the top she can make out a tiny bit of natural light. She raises her palm and takes a breath, focusing until, in a small burst of energy, a small flame flickers to life in her hand. Holding the flame high, she looks down the staircase again, but it’s still hard to make anything out.

She doesn’t feel like walking all the way down to the ground floor—or perhaps even lower—but it seems foolish to not know where it goes. Shaking her hand out, Glinda focuses her magic with another spell. This one quieter, a bit more complex: the kind she didn’t learn until she was out of Shiz.

Magic creeps up her spine and trickles over her shoulders, down her arms to the tips of her fingers. It’s even darker now with her flame gone, but suddenly she can sense perfectly where the edge of her little landing is. On either side, she knows the exact height of every step, and where cracks in the stone have made it easier to trip. She also senses a thick layer of dust with very few footprints, and wonders when the last time someone other than the Wizard was in here.

Glinda furrows her brow and turns her attention downward. The stairs do indeed stop on the ground floor. If there is a secret prison beneath the palace, then it’s only accessible through the Gale Force’s closed-off rooms.

Everything else, though, she seems to have access to. There’s a landing and a door on every floor beneath her, as well as the one above. The stairs keep going past the landing on the fourth floor, and this is where Glinda heads, shaking off her spell and climbing silently up the dusty steps.

The staircase ends at a short ladder leading to a trapdoor. Glinda climbs through and emerges at the top of the tower: a circular room open to the city, surrounded by a stone wall that comes halfway up her torso and a steepled roof that sits on columns, allowing its occupants to lean on the wall and enjoy the view.

It’s quite the view, too. Glinda walks to the wall and finds herself above most of the rest of the city. She has to stop and catch her breath because, for a moment, it’s nothing less than exhilarating.

But then the moment passes, and it’s also a bit too cold, and in the late afternoon sun the city is more shadow than anything else. She lets go of the wall and heads back to the trapdoor, murmuring a spell under her breath to seal it behind her, just for good measure.

-

Though she falls asleep as soon as she collapses onto the bed, she’s not there for long. Through the balcony doors the sky is still dark, and after a few minutes of lying in bed, she decides there’s probably a much more productive way of spending her time.

She pushes herself up and goes to pull the curtains on the doors shut. Then she wanders to the far side of the room, down the hall, and into her new study.

It’ll be a nice place to work, she thinks as she steps inside. The desk faces the windows, offering plenty of natural light, should she want it. The armchair in the corner has a lamp sitting above it and a matching footrest that she hadn’t noticed before—the perfect place for reading. There’s even a small cabinet in another corner of the room. Glinda kneels and opens it to reveal a row of fine, dark liquors and a small tower of crystal glasses.

She smiles wryly and pushes herself back to her feet.

The bookshelf draws her attention next. The lettering on the spines gleams in the little moonlight coming through the window, and Glinda runs her fingers along the titles without really thinking about it. Some are her own, others are ones she recognizes from Shiz or even from Elphaba and Boq’s extensive collections, but many of them are new. Books about sorcery, good and bad, and how it’s shaped Oz. Books about Oz, and its history and cultures and people. Many are specifically about the palace and the Emerald City. Even more are about religion and politics, and biographies of important people and satires of important events.

And architecture. Glinda tilts her head, but sure enough it’s there: a little row of books about architecture. Architecture in different regions, and architecture in different time periods, and famous architects and their famous projects, and she pulls one out at random and flips through it, wondering if it’s just here, or if Marva or somebody else bought and placed it here for her.

Either way, she presses the book to her chest and goes to the armchair. The lantern on the wall flickers to life with a wave of her fingers. She tucks herself into the corner of the chair, curling up small the way Elphie used to in her favorite corner of the library.

That thought, as always, knocks the breath out of her, but Glinda clenches her jaw and opens her book. She forces herself to focus on each word and every little detail of every diagram on the page. She reads, and doesn’t think about anything else, and soon everything else disappears—including, eventually, Elphaba.

That’s how Marva, coming in with a tray of breakfast, finds her the next morning: curled up tight in the chair, book still in hand, and desperately, miraculously, asleep.

-

The days following her official inauguration are quite similar to the ones leading up to it. Glinda finds herself at meetings, meals, appointments. She thanks the board of governors for the tapestry and receives a dozen or so pleased smiles in return. The contractors she hired send her plans for the throne room and she sends them back with her seal of approval. She sits down with the owners of the existing orphanage and works out a budget for the renovation and upkeep of her estate. She writes a thank you note to the seamstress who made her inauguration dress and invites her to the palace for tea, and next thing she knows the palace staff is whispering about how gracious she is, and how generous, too.

The palace staff whisper about a lot of things, in fact. Some of it she hears from Marva, some of it from Sherald, who she’s taken to calling on if she doesn’t want to deal with the former’s fretting. A lot of it, though, she overhears herself as she’s wandering the staircases reserved only for her.

“I heard they’re remodeling the throne room. Her Goodness hired some folk to draw up the plans.” It comes through the wall of what she thinks is the kitchens, one afternoon when she’s exploring. Glinda pauses in her hallway—as empty as the tower staircase she came from—and listens.

“_I _heard she could do all the work herself, with magic, you know? But she hires people to create jobs.”

“But what are they _doing _with it?” a third, younger voice asks.

“Another orphanage.”

“A food kitchen.”

“Oz, I sure hope not. We work hard enough as it is.”

“You know she wouldn’t make us do too much.”

A grunt. “You’re absolutely right.”

“How do you know all this anyway?”

“Keep an ear open, child, you learn a lot of things.”

Glinda rolls her eyes.

“More than you want to know, sometimes,” one of them says. “Like that business with Sir Chuffrey.”

“You know what happened?”

“I’ve heard rumors. They say it was an assassin, sent to mur—”

“Enough,” snaps the other one. “No one wants that kind of talk in the kitchen. Besides, all that unpleasantness is behind us now. All that cloak and dagger—well, it’s over, and Her Goodness is giving us an Oz to be proud of. So it’s best for everyone if we move on. Dwelling in the past never did anything for anybody.”

“Easy for you to say. Her old housekeeper—Marva, right?—I think she’s worried about Her Goodness. Always fretting over her.”

“Well, can you blame her? After everything the poor dear has been through.”

“I saw Miss Marva coming back with a tray still full of food,” the younger voice says. “It didn’t look like Her Goodness had taken a bite.”

“Well, she’s busy, what can you expect? And Lurline knows the kind of pressure she must be under, what with all the appearances she has to make and the people she has to impress.”

“She’s handling it beautifully, though,” one of them says, and Glinda decides that’s enough for now. She turns back the way she came and returns to her tower, not wanting to hear another word about herself for the rest of the day.

Logically, though, she knows they’re right. She’s impressed everyone, even herself, with how well she’s handled the transition. Things are getting done. Already she can feel the city changing, and she’s not the only one.

She’s walking through the grounds—a trio of guards accompanying her—when the stable hand she had met the other day comes running up to her.

“Your Goodness!” he cries. Her guards step in front of her, already lifting their weapons.

Glinda touches one on the arm and smiles sweetly. “It’s quite alright, sir. Would you mind giving us some space?”

From the look on his face, he very much does mind, but he lets go of the hilt of his sword and gestures for the others to follow him a little ways away.

Once they’re alone, the stable boy bows low and speaks in hushed, hurried tones.

“My master has returned, Your Goodness. He wishes to report to you, as soon as you see fit.”

“Where is he now?” Glinda asks.

“At the stables, Your Goodness. He’s resumed his usual work.”

“Run ahead, then, and tell him I’ll be there shortly.”

“Yes, Your Goodness!” He runs off again, stumbling over his own feet in his hurry.

Glinda turns back to her guards. “Thank you for accompanying me, but I really am fine. You’re all dismissed to your regular duties.”

Two of them look stricken, and the third—the one she had spoken to—narrows his eyes.

“With all due respect, my Lady—”

“With the same in return, sir, I am perfectly capable of walking the grounds by myself, am I not?”

“Of course, Lady, but it can be dangerous, being a public figure.”

Glinda smiles again. “Do you know what else is dangerous, sir? Attacking an accomplished sorceress, on secure grounds, in broad daylight. Not even the most idiotic of enemies would try it, don’t you think?”

The other two are chuckling now, and the third, though completely stoic, has no choice but to nod his assent and be on his way. Glinda lingers, watching his retreating back. He’s not actually part of the Gale Force, as far as she’s aware, but she thinks she might have seen him hanging around a few of the officers.

That, however, is an entirely different problem, and right now she has a meeting in the stables. She turns on her heel and heads that way.

The stable master is in one of the rearmost stalls, shoveling hay, when she arrives. The boy who had fetched her points her in the right direction and then wanders conveniently out of earshot.

“Ah, Your Goodness,” the stable master says as she approaches. “Thank you for seeing me so quickly.”

“Of course. You were tasked with something quite important. I trust it was a success?”

“Yes, Your Goodness. We reached the edge of the city without any problems. I took us through a lesser-travelled exit, only a couple guards, and they backed off as soon as I told them I was under your orders.”

“And once you were out of the city?”

“Our friend fled west. Said he has family out in the Vinkus grasslands. I accompanied him to the far side of Restwater, where he joined a group of travelers heading to one of the caravans that goes through Kumbricia’s Pass. Reckon he’s halfway through the mountains by now, safely on his way.”

“That’s good to hear. You have my thanks.”

“It was an honor, Your Goodness. Truly.” His hand comes up to wipe his brow, then fidget with his collar. Glinda waits. After a moment or two, he speaks again. “There was something else I wanted to say, Your Goodness. Something I noticed, coming back into the city.”

Glinda glances around the stables, but they’re still empty. “Go on.”

“I’ve lived in this city all my life. My parents were ambassadors, from—well, it doesn’t matter. But I know this place. I know how it’s changed in the last few decades. And, if I may be so bold, Your Goodness, I see how it’s changing now.”

She says nothing, just watches him calmly and, when he hesitates, tilts her head a little for him to go on.

“It’s been a long while since I’ve seen anyone at the gates who wasn’t a well-dressed Gillikin. Most of the less fortunate folks have had to find other ways in if they wanted to enter the city, and for the last few years, anyone who wasn’t a Gillikin was pure out of luck. But when I came in this morning, it was different.”

“How do you mean?”

A smile tugs at his lips. “I saw a Vinkan fellow, wrapped in all his bright colors. Didn’t speak a word of the common tongue, as far as I could tell, but he was singing and smiling at everyone he passed. Not one of the guards bothered him. And there was a family, at a marketplace I passed, and they were all Munchkins, but nobody was harassing them.”

“I should hope not,” says Glinda. “That’s a very low standard to have.”

“I know, Your Goodness. But it’s a start. And it’s better than anything I’ve seen from this city in a long time.”

“Yes,” Glinda says. She studies him for a moment. “Thank you, for telling me all of this. It’s good to hear from someone who isn’t a hired advisor.”

“Your Goodness, I am at your service. I’m happy to help at any time, in any way I can.”

“I’m grateful for that.” Glinda folds her hands takes a step back. “I’ll let you get back to work, now.”

“Thank you, Your Goodness. I hope we can talk again soon.”

She tilts her head in acknowledgement and leaves him. As she turns the corner out of the stables, she can hear his jolly whistle and the rustle of hay being tossed around once more.

It’s that hour right after dinner, and the grounds are half-full of guards just starting their night shift, or servants leaning against corners and unwinding now that the day is coming to a close, or guests strolling lazily around, enjoying the sunset. Glinda had been nearing the end of her walk anyway, and there’s nothing so pressing that she must do it today, so she decides it’s time to retire for the night.

There’s a servants’ entrance near here that leads to just beside the kitchens. It’s normally used to bring meals to guards or other grounds workers, but this far into the evening Glinda reckons she’ll be able to use it without passing anyone.

From there it’s easy enough to make her way around the kitchens and into the lonely hall that leads to her tower. Her feet fall silently against the dust-covered steps. Not for the first time, she wonders if there’s a spell to clean the stairwell easily. She thinks she remembers one, vaguely, from that book of household spells that’s surely sitting in her study. Or she can just have the cleaning staff take care of it.

But she does neither of those things and instead enters her chambers, leaving the problem of the dusty tower behind her. She goes to her wardrobe and sheds her shoes and dress. She pulls the pins from her hair and lets it fall in waves around her shoulders. She runs her fingers through it, rubbing at her scalp to ease away the pain of being so tightly wound all day.

Then, for a moment, she just stands there. She reaches up to touch the black cloth around her arm. She had tied it just slightly too tight this morning, and her skin itches and aches beneath it, but after tugging half-heartedly at the knot for a moment she just gives up and leaves it. Her fingers instead move down to her ribs, brushing over the indents her corset has made into her skin. She reaches behind herself and presses on the small of her back, bending against the stiffness in her muscles. When that’s done, she leans in close to the mirror. She twists her head one way, then the other, inspecting the wrinkles that have set in at the corners of her mouth, around her nose, across her brow.

And then she gets bored. With a heavy sigh, Glinda kicks her dress away and reaches into the wardrobe for a nightgown. It’s cold enough now that she can wear her thick, long-sleeve ones, which is just as well—she has no intention of taking the black cloth off, and now she can step out onto the balcony without having to worry about someone seeing it.

She does exactly that. The balcony is probably the least grand thing about her rooms. It’s only large enough to comfortably fit two people, which suits Glinda just fine. Not much of the city can be seen, either. She imagines that’s why the Wizard chose these rooms. If she looks far enough to the side, she can just see the magnificent banks and manors and other buildings stretching out from the palace. But in front of her is mostly a stretch of gardens, and the shadows of a grove of young trees stretching across the sidewalks they’ll one day tower over, and the paths worn into the dirt by guards or other palace staff as they cross through this way.

Even if she can’t see most of the city, though, she can hear it. Carriage wheels rattle against the cobblestone as they take people home for the night. Someone calls out in greeting, and it’s echoed from even further away. Closer than that—probably from one of the restaurants near the palace—the music from a violin spills out into the street.

It sounds different than the night life she’s used to. On the nights she would run through the city with Crope, there were far less carriages, and they ran on cracked, dirty streets rather than cobblestone. The people would sound wilder as they called out to each other. The music would be louder, amplified even more by the drunkards singing along with it.

To her vague surprise, though, the change doesn’t bother her. She can’t say she particularly misses those nights. Maybe it’s better, even, now that she knows Elphaba is gone. If she’s dead, then Glinda no longer has to torture herself trying to find her.

She sighs again and shifts so she can lean more heavily against the rail. Her eyes feel heavy, and her mind is starting to drift. Perhaps she should sleep. But if she pushes herself back up and goes inside, she might just end up shaking off her fatigue, and then she’ll be up for the rest of the night.

She can’t decide what to do next, so she ends up just staying there, her vision blurring as her eyelids begin to droop. Her neck aches, suddenly, and she realizes she’s nodding off, right here against the railing.

Glinda blinks a few times, struggling to come back to herself. She leans forward to look over the side of the railing. In the garden below her, one of the guards quickly turns his head back to his feet. She hears the faint rumble of him clearing his throat.

She rolls her eyes and pushes off the railing. It’s getting too cold to be out here, anyway.

But when she returns to her room and closes the balcony doors behind her, she finds that she had been right earlier: now that she’s standing upright and moving again, all of her fatigue has vanished.

A little annoyed but unwilling to waste time by just lying down and staring at the ceiling, she turns away from her soft, inviting bed and heads instead to her study. Sleep will come eventually, and even if it doesn’t—well, there are a hundred more important things she can be doing, anyway.

-

A couple of weeks after her inauguration, on a day when the city wakes up to a dense fog and everyone coming into the palace is wrapped in coats and gloves and thick, winding scarves, Glinda stands in the middle of the throne room. The contractors who helped draw the plans stand off to one side with their team of construction workers. On the other side are the palace sorceresses, along with a few men from the board of governors. A couple of the palace staff who have the time to spare are there as well, lingering further back in the corners of the room.

Glinda faces the far wall, where the throne has already been removed. She’s a little put out by that—it would have been cathartic, she thinks, to blast the stupid thing to pieces.

But at least she still gets to blast something. The room is surrounded mostly by hallways, and a quick walk around the floor proves that some of those hallways are entirely unnecessary. If they take out the walls behind and to the right of the throne, they can expand the room a decent amount.

Glinda raises her hands. She had requested that she take the first metaphorical swing. She can still remember the Wizard standing here, waiting for her. She can see his stupid luminescent skeleton, grinning at them, winding Elphaba up so it would be easier to tear her down. She only wishes that the Wizard was still here, so he can watch, and then maybe be struck dead, as she tears this place apart, brick by awful brick.

She’s trembling now. The room gets even darker—her vision tunneling—and she clenches her teeth as she forces her rage into energy, into sorcery. Her magic shoots through her, horribly cold, and she takes a step toward the wall.

A muffled crack echoes through the room. Glinda feels the mortar fracturing as it starts to give. She pushes harder and, after a moment, the far wall bursts apart. Stone and mortar crumbles to the floor as light from the hall floods into the room. Dust rises and settles again. Around her, her audience bursts into cheers.

The construction teams heft tools onto their shoulders and start moving. Some of the people in the room have stepped further back, staring at her in awe, but others come rushing forward with congratulations. Even some of the governors—men she vividly remembers laughing out loud at this idea—are pressing in to shake her hand.

Through the little crowd that’s formed around her she senses someone else watching her. Glinda turns to see a row of Gale Force officers standing just inside the room’s gilded doors. Just like everyone else in their room, she’s their center of attention. Unlike everyone else, however, they’re watching her in a calm, calculated way. Glinda smiles, nods in their direction, then turns back to the people surrounding her.

More and more, she’s been burning to know more about the Gale Force. The rumored prison beneath the city, the closed-off rooms on the fourth floor, the way they keep popping up like this, directly or through the normal guards patrolling the palace—there are too many secrets, and the sooner she deals with them, the better. The men at the doors of the throne room show no emotion. For the first time since entering the palace, Glinda thinks she might have a formidable opponent.

But even with that thought, she isn’t too worried. One look around the room puts her perfectly at ease. Hundreds of pounds of stone lie on the far side of the room, taken down with one hand. In the lower districts of the city, there are men probably still recovering from their wounds. And Chuffrey? Well. The bottom line is, she knows she’s a force to be reckoned with.

Even more intimidating, though, is everyone else in the room, their cheers echoing off what’s left of the walls. The servants, standing in the corners, have utter faith in her. The governors who doubted her have welcomed her completely. Even if the Gale Force opposes her, they will do it alone. In every other corner of the palace—of the entire city—she can do no wrong.

-

Glinda has a private dinner that night, just her and Marva in one of the little tea rooms on the third floor. As usual, most of the conversation is provided by Marva, who pours their tea and mentions over and over again how delicious the soup is, and how really Glinda is going to let hers get cold, just sitting there like that.

“You worry too much, Marva,” Glinda says eventually.

“You give me too much cause to be worried, my lady.”

“You act like I’m dying. Really, it’s fine. I’m just not hungry.”

Marva clicks her tongue. “Honestly, dear, I can’t remember the last time you were.”

“Well, things have been hectic. You know that.”

“All too well.” Marva falls quiet. Her hand comes up to fidget with the handle of her tea cup, then pick up her spoon and stir her soup, then return to the tea cup again.

Glinda does her best to ignore her, though the clinking of the spoon against Marva’s bowl grates against her ears. She’s tired again. Perhaps she should trade her tea in for a strong cup of coffee. There’s still work to do tonight. Work in the throne room went smoothly, but she has a few ideas of how to improve it even more. It’s still so dark in there. If she can find a spell to enchant the windows, they can let in more light without requiring them to knock out any of the outer walls.

Marva clears her throat, and Glinda focuses on her.

“If I may be so bold, my lady,” she says, “I think you did too much in the throne room today.”

Glinda frowns. “How do you mean?” Surely she isn’t talking about the work they’ve done. Surely she isn’t like the governors, laughing at her for trying to change things. Or the Gale Force, watching her and waiting to see her mess up.

“I heard some of the staff talking about it. They say you moved an entire stone wall on your own.”

“With magic, Marva. It’s different.”

“It still takes a toll on you. Look at you. You’re about to nod off straight into your soup.”

“A little fatigue seems a low price to pay for getting things done. I’d say today was a success.” Glinda narrows her eyes. “But perhaps that’s your actual concern. Do you not approve of the work I’m doing here?”

“My lady,” Marva says, her eyes wide, “I have always been your biggest supporter. You know that.”

“Then support me now.”

“I _am_. Which is why I am telling you that you’re pushing yourself too hard.”

Glinda leans back in her chair. “Perhaps you just underestimate me.”

“Perhaps you overestimate yourself.” Marva winces. “Forgive me, my lady. It’s just that—I’ve never seen you like this before. Until these last few days, I didn’t even know you _had _a temper, and now… All I’m saying is, I know you’re not eating. And everyone knows you’re not sleeping. It’s not healthy, my lady. That’s all I want from you, that you be healthy.”

“Do you think that I can’t take care of myself?” Glinda’s voice is cold, even to her own ears, but she doesn’t care. How many times has she heard this before? And now, from Marva—sweet, loving Marva, of all people—well. She can’t keep the bitterness out.

“I worry that you don’t.” Marva hesitates. Then, “Or won’t.”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?” asks Glinda. “And I’m doing what I set out to do. I’m making a shelter out of the throne room. An orphanage out of my estate. More people are making their way into the city. Munchkinlanders are coming out of hiding. I vowed to make this city a better place, safer for everybody, and I’m succeeding.”

Marva meets her eyes. “Yes, my dear. But at what cost?”

Elphie. Elphie was the cost. Glinda presses her fingers into her skirt and forces the trembling to leave her limbs. She lost everything long before she even started, and Marva, along with everybody else, will never know.

“There is no cost,” she says, once she trusts her voice to stay even. “There is no cost too high. Not with this.”

Not anymore.

“My lady—”

“Perhaps it’s best if you leave, Marva.”

There’s a silence, long and heavy, before Marva bows her head slightly.

“Yes, my lady. If you need me, you know where to find me.”

She pushes her chair back and leaves. As she goes through the door, Glinda hears the shuffling of footsteps. She looks up to see half the outline of another servant, stumbling away from Marva, and then the nervous voice of one of the kitchen staff.

“—w-was just coming to—to take your tray, i-i-if you were finished, i-if Her Goodness pleased.”

“And you do that by eavesdropping, do you?” Marva snaps.

“Enough,” Glinda calls, just loud enough for them to hear. Marva glares at the kitchen girl for another moment before turning on her heel and walking away. When the girl still lingers outside her door, Glinda sighs. “You can come in.”

“I-I’m so sorry, Your Goodness, I—”

“It’s alright. And we are finished in here.” Glinda pushes her chair back as well and rises to her feet.

The kitchen girl folds her hands in front of her and bows her head as Glinda moves past her.

Her chambers are on the other side of the floor, but the library is just above her. Glinda heads for the staircase. Maybe she can find the spells she needs up there.

The usual pang hits her as she walks into the library—the one that comes when she can smell the parchment and dust and hear nothing but the quiet shifting of positions or the scratching of a pen across a page—but she ignores it and makes her way to the sorcery section.

She’s there for quite some time, until long after everyone else has left the room for the night, and then for a while after. When her first project is done to her satisfaction, she goes through a mental list and finds something else to work on. It’s peaceful, almost, being the only one in the room. Perhaps she’s the only one awake in the entire palace. Minus the guards, of course. She’s certainly the most productive one, moving from shelf to shelf, table to table, problem to problem as she works well into the late hours of the night.

Glinda is in there for so long, in fact, that that’s where she wakes up the next morning. The sound of a door opening and closing behind her has her sitting upright, and that’s when she realizes she had been sleeping at one of the desks.

Before she can feel too embarrassed, she catches sight of the servant who has just entered the room, and she decides he’s flustered enough for the both of them.

“I’m sorry, Your Goodness,” he says. His fingers fiddle with the strap of the messenger bag at his waist. “I didn’t mean to—I was looking and they said you were in the library, I assumed you were—my apologies, I shouldn’t have—”

Glinda stifles a yawn and waves her hand dismissively. “It’s alright, really. Now, why were you looking for me?”

“I have a letter, Your Goodness. Handed straight to the palace staff, and to be perfectly honest, we were paid to get it to you as quickly as possible.”

Odd. “Who is it from?”

“I don’t have a name, just that it’s from an old friend.”

Glinda sits up. Her stomach drops. Something shoots up through her spine and into her fingertips. “What do you mean? Who gave the letter to you?”

“We’re not sure, Your Goodness. But he was a charming enough fellow. Fair hair. The gaudiest suit I’ve ever seen. One of the stable boys said he’s seen him around in, ah, particular parts of the theatre district.” The courier pauses. “But I’m gossiping now. Forgive me.”

She waves her hand again, deflated. “I know who it’s from,” she says, reaching out for the letter. He pulls it from a side pocket of his bag and gives it to her with a bow of his head. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, Your Goodness.” And then he’s off again, probably to tell the rest of the palace staff that Her Goodness does indeed know the peculiar man who pays palace staff to deliver letters straight to their lady. She’ll have to tell Crope to calm down.

Glinda rubs her eyes and tucks the letter into one of the books she’d been using last night. She’ll open it once she’s safe in her chambers. With coffee brought up.

A while later, when she’s a bit more awake and sitting alone in her study, she pulls a letter opener from her desk and slides it cleanly through the seal of the envelope. Crope’s letter is folded precisely, but when she smoothes it across her desk she finds his usual messy handwriting, with quite a few scribbles and scratched out lines.

_Dearest Glinda,_

_You’ll have to forgive me for not sending this to you sooner. Every time I think it’s ready, some new twist appears, and I find more things I want to ask you about. _

_I suppose you have the palace wrapped around your finger by now, and every bloody politician has learned to sit and stay and roll over at your command. But I’m worried, Glinda. So much has happened, and we haven’t been able to talk about any of it. I hoped to see you at Avaric and Shenshen’s party, but you never made an appearance. I understand why, of course—and trust me, the two of them are as petty and loathsome as ever—but I was left alone with all of the rumors. I don’t know what to believe. I hardly even know what’s happened._

_I hear you shone at your inauguration. That one I absolutely believe. I doubt you want my congratulations, though, so I’ll say this instead: whatever you’re doing, it’s working. Raids in the lower districts have become less frequent, and far less violent. I saw a Quadling family walking through the gates the other day, and there’s even been talk of Animals appearing again around town. Everyone’s put their trust completely in you, love, and it hasn’t been misplaced. Even old Boq can enter the city again. He wrote me as soon as he heard, and he’s on his way to stay with me for a while. If all goes well, he should be here by the time you get this. _

_And yet, it feels like our lives are more filled with horrors than successes. These people are cheering at a funeral, blind as ever to the true nature of things. We need to talk. I see your touches all around the city, but I want to see you. And something tells me you might be in need of a familiar face._

_You know where to send for me. I’ll keep my schedule open for you._

_All my love,_

_Crope_

Glinda leans back, a faint smile tugging at her lips. She does know where to send for him, and maybe she is in need of a familiar face. Up until now, she’s felt alone. No one else knows the horrible things that have happened. Crope doesn’t know a lot of it, either, but at least he knew Elphaba.

She writes her response right away and asks to meet him as soon as possible. Perhaps this is what she’s been needing. Perhaps this will make everything better.

-

They arrange to meet at her estate. Most of her staff have taken holidays while preparations for the orphanage are being made, and the ones who have stayed aren’t wandering around much in the evenings. Besides, Crope has had a distaste for the city’s upper districts since he was a boy. Her estate is a little better than the palace itself, and maybe this way he won’t be the source of any more gossip among her staff.

_As if they’d ever speak poorly of you, _Crope writes in another note, confirming a time and date. But he agrees to meet her there anyway.

Glinda makes sure that afternoon is free, but the morning of the day they’re supposed to meet is filled with meetings. She has breakfast with some minor politician from Dixxi House—a dull affair, full of pleasantries and little else. The rest of the morning is spent in their usual meeting hall on the fourth floor. At least they’re productive in this one, but Glinda still finds herself painfully bored. She also notes, with some amusement, that many of the board members are talking a lot less these days. She is, too, but she supposes that’s just because doesn’t need to spend as much time convincing them anymore.

They take a break for lunch, but that just makes Glinda even antsier when they reconvene. She’s almost fidgeting in her chair, she’s so eager to get out of the palace and to her estate. She doesn’t know what will happen when she sees Crope. She just knows it has to be better than sitting here.

When she’s finally able to call the meeting to a close, she slips away through her tower staircase and into her chambers, where she hurries to change into more comfortable clothes before making her way down to the entrance hall. The palace guards insist on her taking a carriage every time she goes somewhere, and since it’s not dark enough yet to sneak out, she obliges. But she tells the driver to take a less traveled route, and when they reach her estate, she passes him a wad of cash and convinces him to take the rest of the night off and not tell anyone.

The staff at her estate, of course, need no such bribes. They’re ecstatic when they greet her, but then they go about their business, essentially leaving her alone. Glinda wonders if Marva has spoken to any of them, or if they just know her well enough not to worry about her.

“Master Crope arrived just before you,” one of the butlers tells her. “Dinner is almost ready, as well. Shall we bring it up to you?”

Glinda nods and gives him a little wave. He takes the hint and bows slightly before leaving her. She doesn’t need to ask where Crope is. She just heads to the little dining hall she used to entertain guests in.

The door is slightly ajar. He’s in there, slouching in a chair, probably, but he’ll jump up as soon as he sees her. He’ll leap to his feet and run to her and take her hands and kiss her cheek and even if it’s just for a moment, everything will be alright again.

Glinda presses her hand to the door. She eases it open.

Crope is there alright, slouching in one of the chairs, and he jumps to his feet when he sees her in the doorway.

“Glinda,” he murmurs. “Dear Glinda.”

And he runs to her, and he takes each of her hands in his and ducks his head to kiss her cheek.

And Glinda, to her devastation and dismay, feels nothing.

Crope wraps her in a hug, and her arms come around his waist, but it doesn’t bring the comfort she expected. When they part, and he touches the ends of her hair—an old gesture of affection, left over from those nights they would wander around Shiz together, young and drunk and carefree—the same lonely feeling settles in her chest. Glinda stares up at him, longing to see the face of an old friend, who she knows and loves so well. He’s still there, of course, but it’s different. And all of the relief she’s looked forward to, all the hope that seeing Crope would make things better, is nowhere to be found.

“You look dead on your feet, love,” Crope says, taking her hands again and leading her to the chair he was just sitting on. “Sit down, you know I can’t catch you if you have a fainting spell.”

She’s meant to smile, but all Glinda can do is swallow her disappointment. Crope sits her down and takes the seat across from her. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and studies her closely.

“What is it?” she asks. “Stop staring. I’m starting to think I’ve made some horrible fashion mistake. Is it my makeup? My dress?”

Crope tuts. “Oh, stop. You look lovely as ever.”

Yet his eyes still wander over her, and she wonders what he sees. The way her hair sits plain and tired around her head? The lack of jewelry? The dark colors she wears, or the black gloves she bought last week? Well, let him see. He’s the only one who would understand, after all.

Yet, the longer they sit there, the more Glinda believes that not even Crope could understand this.

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly. “It’s just so much to take in—and that’s nothing compared to what it’s been like for you. I want to ask you so many things. I just don’t know where to start.”

Glinda is still staring at him, searching hard for the emotions she had been so looking forward to. She’s so lost that she doesn’t even try to come up with something to say.

“But it’s been a long time since you and I have bothered with pleasantries and small talk, hasn’t it?”

She nods and finally finds her voice. “I suppose it has.”

“Good thing I already asked for your strongest liquor to be brought up with dinner.” He glances at her, a trace of his old smile flashing across his face. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Glinda returns it, weakly. “You never change, do you?”

But he has. Looking at him, she can’t see the difference, but this isn’t the boy she knew at Shiz, with the constant carefree smile and scandalous sense of humor. This isn’t the friend who walked with her across campus and sat beside her in the library as she broke down crying. It’s not the Crope who used to take her on wild, desperate nights through the city, distracting her with every entertainment and substance she’d allow, all the while helping her keep an ear out for anything hinting at Elphaba’s continued existence.

And perhaps that’s it. He’s just not the same anymore. Maybe, like everyone else in their doomed circle of friends, they had finally and irreparably grown apart.

But that thought is too much to dwell on. Glinda brushes her palms against her skirt and tries to join the conversation.

“Why don’t you tell me what you’ve heard?”

“So many things. The Wizard vanished. You sent Dorothy home. And what’s this about you destroying your throne room? To make some sort of shelter?”

“All that is true.”

“And…before all of this. Our Elph—well. But I suppose none of us will ever really know the truth of all that.”

“They say it was Dorothy,” she says thickly. “But I don’t see how it could be. The girl was harmless, even if she was cursed.”

Crope’s eyes find hers, glistening and full of pity. “I wrote to you as soon as I heard.”

She remembers, barely. “Yes. So did Boq.”

Crope opens his mouth, but whatever he’s going to say next never comes out. He shuts it again and looks away. His eyes dart back toward her, though, and Glinda gets the odd feeling that he’s waiting for something.

Someone knocks on the door then. Glinda sits up and calls for them to enter, and for a moment their silence is broken by the commotion of the servants bringing in dinner. They pour the liquor Crope had asked for—with a confirmation glance from Glinda—and she resists the urge to immediately down her entire glass.

When they’re alone again, the silence continues, even though neither one of them touches their food. Glinda sips at her drink and quickly feels the heat rising to her cheeks. Too late, she remembers she ate very little at lunch.

Crope takes a drink too, a long one. When he sets his glass back down, he leans forward and levels his gaze at her.

“Boq is fine, by the way. He made it into the city safely.”

Glinda sets her own glass down carefully. “Of course. That’s good to hear. How long is he staying with you?”

“We’re not sure. He can’t just leave his farm, of course, but…” Crope pauses. He grips his glass and twists it back and forth against the table. “We want to be here for you, Glinda. That’s why he came. So much has happened, and you shouldn’t have to face it alone.”

Glinda can’t help it. She frowns. “You sound like Marva.”

“Your housekeeper?”

She nods. “She came with me to the palace, but it seems all she does these days is scold me.”

“Huh.” Crope looks sideways at her. “I always thought she was sweet.”

“She was.” Glinda sighs. “Maybe she’s just concerned, I don’t know. But it comes off as patronizing.”

“That’s not how I mean it, you know.”

Glinda says nothing. She takes another drink.

“Boq didn’t have to come,” she says eventually. “He didn’t have to uproot his life just for me.”

“He wanted to. He chose to,” says Crope. “His farm will be fine, at least for a little while. This is far more important.”

Her brow furrows. “You sound so worried.”

“Are you not?”

“Of course I am, to an extent. But all things considered, I’d say everything is going pretty well.”

Crope stares. “That’s a dark joke, Glinda. Even for you.”

“That’s because I’m not joking.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Why? What is it you think I’m doing so wrong?”

“It’s not what you’re doing, love. It’s what’s happened. You can make every right decision and execute every good idea, but that doesn’t change the fact that all of this came out of such a horrible situation.”

“What does that matter?” Glinda snaps. It’s sudden and sharp, but she finds that she has no desire to settle down or lower her voice. “I can’t change how I got here, or what happened before I did. But I _can _change what’s happening now. Look at Boq. A month ago he never would have made it into the city alive. He’s here now because of me, because of the things I’ve done. _That’s _what matters.”

Crope is left speechless. She’s surprised him, or intimidated him. Well, good, she thinks. She’s tired of everyone doubting her. She’s tired of no one understanding. Let him stare at her, at a loss for words.

But then he shifts, leaning forward and meeting her eyes with such openhearted earnestness, for a moment she loses her breath. When he speaks, it’s the softest thing she’s heard in weeks.

“You’re allowed to grieve her, you know.”

It hurts. It’s sharp and deep and unexpected, and Glinda feels as though she’s losing Elphaba all over again. She hates it. She hates _him_.

“Get out.” It’s a struggle to get the words out, and she isn’t sure he’s heard until he reaches out across the table.

“Glinda—”

“Don’t. Just leave.”

“Glinda, please—”

“I mean it, Crope. Get out of my house.”

When he stays there, still reaching for her, looking so infuriatingly sympathetic, that’s when she can’t help it. She jumps to her feet, her chair flying out behind her to crash into the far wall.

“Get out _now!_”

All the lights have blown out, leaving the room smelling of smoke. In the dark she sees Crope scrambling to his feet. It’s not fast enough. Glinda bites down on her lip and turns away from him. She digs her fingers into her arms and holds herself together as adrenaline and magic and rage pour through her. She stands there, trembling, until she hears the door open and close, and his footsteps fading beyond it. Even after that, she stays there, taking deep, shaky breaths, until she’s regained enough composure to release the painful grip she has on her own arms.

Then she goes to her chair and places it upright again. She straightens her dress, runs a hand over her hair, and leaves the room.

-

Back in the palace that night, Glinda gives up on trying to sleep and makes her way instead to the top of her tower. She hasn’t been out here in the dark yet. She makes her way over to the wall and looks out across the top of the city. It’s too bright to actually see any stars. Or maybe it’s just cloudy. She can’t tell and she’s not really looking, anyway. Her gaze seems to settle on the empty space between her and anything else out there.

It’s a stupid room, the top of this tower. Poorly designed. It’s covered enough that it blocks much of the view, but the low wall and lifted roof offer no protection from the cold. Or anything else.

How valuable this knowledge could have been for Elphaba. How easy it would have been, had she known, to just fly up here and lie in wait for the Wizard. She can picture it so clearly. Elphaba in her cloak and hat, working for the mysterious resistance, flying around the city on that stupid broom of hers. Even if the Wizard was expecting it, what would he have done? The tower is so private, this corner of the palace so isolated from the rest. And the shadows press in, easily hiding any late night intruders.

They’re pressing in now. She can see them out of the corner of her eyes. What will be waiting for Glinda when she turns around?

Is _she _waiting for her to turn around?

Glinda spins to face the middle of the room. Nothing. She lifts her hand and summons a flame. The shadows flicker and shift against the glow, and she sees something moving—there, huddled against the far wall. With a cry Glinda throws her arm forward. Her flame shoots forward, blasting against the stone and illuminating the entire room.

There’s nothing there. Glinda draws her fire back and holds it high. Nothing but scorch marks. With a sigh, she shakes the magic from her hand. She lowers herself to the floor and sits there, in the dark, all alone.


	4. Chapter Three

_I dream all year, but they're not the sweet kinds_

_And the shivers move down my shoulder blades in double time_

_And now people talk to me I'm slipping out of reach now_

_People talk to me, and all their faces blur_

_But I got my fingers laced together and I made a little prison_

_And I'm locking up everyone who ever laid a finger on me_

_\---_

The days have started to blur together.

It’s not that Glinda falls into a routine, it’s just that everything she does, she does so much of. She begins to lose interest. Even the new experiences come in such massive quantities that they quickly become as dull and repetitive as the rest. Every day she has a new invitation to this dinner or that ball or this business’s grand opening. She starts meeting with ambassadors from all across Oz: the Vinkus and Quadling Country and even the leaderless regions of Munchkinland. But once she meets one, she finds she’s then meeting two, then five, then a dozen, until they all begin to look the same, with the same exchange of pleasantries and concerns and interests.

The palace starts taking visitors. Glinda is relieved to find that the ones who have legitimate concerns are almost always easily delegated to other people. She’s less than thrilled, however, when it becomes clear that citizens with legitimate concerns are very few compared to the ones just want to see her, or the palace, or the soon-to-be shelter. Their open hours quickly become an excuse for journalists who haven’t managed an appointment, or the city’s up and coming wealthy who have yet to make a big enough name of themselves to get an invitation, or residents of the lower districts who have never been allowed within view of the palace, let alone inside to shake the hand of Glinda the Good herself.

They’re well-meaning, each and every one of them, and Glinda is sure the novelty of a new leader and an open palace will soon wear off. Besides, this entire thing was her idea, so she can’t back down now.

And good things occasionally come from it. The people tell her about restaurants that don’t allow Vinkan patrons, or cabbies who charge Munchkinlanders more. At her next meeting with the governors, Glinda drafts a discrimination law. They mention teachers who spend their evenings giving free common language classes, and Glinda finds them and invites them to dinner to discuss turning those classes into a funded program.

A hysterical child runs in through the front doors one day, struggling to tell them through his tears how a soldier hurt his friend. Glinda sends a trio of guards—three of the ones she’s noticed stumbling over themselves to serve her—to follow him, and they come back not twenty minutes later with the accused soldier, saying that he had indeed attacked the boy’s friend, who just coincidentally happened to be Vinkan. Glinda strips him of his title and has him thrown in jail, and by the next week she has plenty of visitors telling her how they see much less aggression from the soldiers who patrol the city.

It gets her thinking, though. The arrested soldier had been part of the Gale Force. She’s realized lately that she sees and hears them less than anyone else in the palace. The officer on her board, along with his retired superior, almost never speaks up when she’s around. They’ve never contradicted her, of course, but they’ve also never shown the enthusiasm and dedication the rest of the governors have taken to. Lately she’s almost been wishing they would do something to defy her—those meetings have gotten so boring.

She’s known all along that she’ll eventually have to confront the Gale Force. In fact, more and more she’s been wondering if she’s just putting it off. She’s waiting for the right opportunity, of course, but she’s starting to suspect there’s something more behind her procrastination. Perhaps everything else has become so monotone that this is a challenge she’s looking forward to. Once she accomplishes this, what will be left? Is there anything else that can hold her interest?

These are the things bouncing around her head late one night as she’s wandering the halls. She likes the palace a lot more at night. The low, flickering glow of the torches suits these corridors much better than the colorful light that streams through the windows during the day. And there are less people at night. There are less guards, which means it’s easier to remember their routes and avoid them. It’s rare to come across a politician or palace guest, and they’re always ashamed enough of their late night wanderings that they avert their eyes and hurry past her without a word. The staff, too, are hardly even seen above the first floor after dark, and many of them have taken to ducking their heads and stepping out of her way anyway. So on nights like this, when she can’t sleep and her study or the library get too stuffy to work, she supposes this is an acceptable pastime.

There are some who might disagree, of course. Glinda sees the growing light of a torch moving around the corner ahead of her. She can turn around, or duck into one of the rooms along this hall. Or she can keep walking, staring coolly ahead of her.

That’s what she does, almost without deciding to do it. When the stranger comes around the corner, he comes face to face with a Glinda who has no intention of stepping out of the way or averting her eyes.

It’s a soldier. He has his sword halfway out of his belt before he even realizes who she is, and he seems almost disappointed when he recognizes her and has to put it back.

“Your Goodness,” he says with a curt nod. “You shouldn’t be out here at this hour.”

Glinda raises her chin. “I’m not allowed to walk the halls of my own palace?”

“In the middle of the night? It’s not proper, Your Goodness, and it certainly isn’t safe.”

She studies him. She’s in no danger here or anywhere else she goes, and from the way the guard’s hand is still gripping the hilt of his sword, she has a feeling he knows that perfectly well.

She decides not to say anything, to wait and see what he does first. He fidgets in the silence. His fingers shift around his weapon. It’s hard to tell, even in the light of the torch he holds, whether his uniform is Gale Force or just an ordinary palace guard.

“I’m sorry, Your Goodness,” he finally says. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to escort you back to your rooms.”

“And why is that?” She keeps her voice calm, and a touch overly sweet.

The guard frowns. It shifts into a scowl, and she sees his hand move, hears the scrape of his sword sliding out of its sheath. Glinda meets his eyes and stares him down.

Magic trickles through her. The sword is replaced yet again, and this time he lets go of the hilt. His scowl turns back into a frown, and then into a mild, distant look.

She can leave now, and he’ll quickly forget that he ever ran into her. But as she steps around him to continue on her way, that suddenly doesn’t feel like it’s enough. Glinda turns back toward him.

“It seems odd, doesn’t it, to question Her Goodness,” she says.

He stares blankly at her. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

“Who’s to say she isn’t allowed to go where she pleases? This is her palace, is it not? These seem like strange orders.”

“Very strange,” he says. “Very strange indeed. Wrong, I daresay. I shouldn’t bother Her Goodness.”

“Even if she was wandering late at night?”

“Even then. That’s her business. Her Goodness. Glinda the Good’s business, not mine.”

Glinda backs away. As soon as she’s around the corner and out of sight, she releases him, hoping his rambling at the end there isn’t indicative of any damage. She’s never charmed someone for so long, and he’s more of a fool than she anticipated. Maybe he’s just an ordinary palace guard after all. Surely the Gale Force have more mental control than that.

What’s done is done, though, and now she’s free to continue on her way. Glinda shakes her head and moves silently along the corridor until she can no longer hear him nearby, and she’s blissfully alone again.

-

When all the details for converting the throne room have been finalized, Glinda turns her attention more fully to the work at her estate. Work is coming along nicely there, too, and there is already a full staff trained and ready to begin work as soon as the place receives her stamp of approval.

This is how she finds herself sitting in front of her vanity one morning, being done up by a handful of quiet girls. They paint her eyes and lips and comb her hair back into the plainest braid she can convince them to do. Glinda usually dreads these public appearances, where she’s forced to agree to someone else handling her appearance, but this morning is peacefully silent. All the usual chatter about how well she slept or how good she looks or whether or not she needs anything else has vanished. In fact, she notes with some amusement, all of them seem to look away whenever she glances at them.

Glinda studies them all in the mirror, trying to remember their names. The woman braiding her hair—she’s become friends with Marva, hasn’t she? Glinda thinks she’s seen them walking around together. Although, the more she thinks about it, the more she realizes she can’t really be sure.

But that’s okay. There’s no real point in thinking about it too much, anyway. It’s enough for her to have a quiet morning, especially in the face of such a busy day.

She misses the calm as soon as she’s in her carriage and heading through the city. It’s a madhouse compared to the palace. The moment they’re through the gates and out in the streets, everyone seems to have noticed her. People step out of buildings or stop on the sidewalks to wave to her. Kids scramble to their feet and run after the carriage, laughing and cheering when they catch a glimpse of her through the window. She hears cries of her name, or _Your Goodness, _or other warm greetings they want her to hear.

It’s harder, now, to look out of the carriage at all of them, but she still does it. Her smiles are tight, her waves are calm and controlled, but she does it.

A small group of people stand waiting for her at the front door of her manor. The contractor in charge of the project, the head of the orphanage across town, a maunt from the Cloister of St. Glinda—who also volunteered time for the children—and the head of staff she’d left in charge when she moved to the palace with Marva. They greet her enthusiastically and usher her into the manor.

“You know your way around, of course,” the woman in charge says as she leads the group through the entryway and down a hall. “But we wanted to show you the changes. Shall we start with the dining hall? It looks wonderful—I’m sure the kids will love it.”

So they make their way through the manor. The woman is right—it does look wonderful. Most of her and Chuffrey’s decorations had been sold or exchanged for more practical things. Where ornate tapestries once hung there are now massive chalkboards for lessons or just creative little hands. The figurines or statues she once owned have disappeared, replaced by toys and schoolbooks and spare pairs of shoes.

Glinda’s own bedroom has been turned into a dormitory, with beds and trunks lining the walls. The sheets are soft and new and the wooden furniture gleams with polish. She looks around the room, searching for any sign of where her desk, or the wardrobe, or Chuffrey’s liquor cabinet used to be. Logically, she knows the desk sat in that corner, across from her bed. Or was it against that wall, so she could see the window while she worked. Or maybe…

It doesn’t matter. Glinda takes a step back, retreating a little from the room. Her entourage takes the hint and follows her out.

They’re watching her, the little group that leads her down the hall and over to what used to be a ballroom. They keep glancing back at her, searching for something. Like they’re expecting something of her. Glinda just follows along, nodding absently as they explain the room’s layout, the new furniture, how excited the kids will be, how this is such a good thing she’s doing.

When it’s over, they meet in what used to be a study and hand her some documents to read. The old plans, the first year’s budget—she’s seen most of them before. She takes her sealing wax and stamps the bottom of the last page.

Again, the others look at her as if waiting for something. Glinda stands and hands the documents over.

“You’ve done good work,” she says. “All of you. Thank you.”

There’s a brief pause, but then the orphanage head takes the papers from her and bows her head. “Thank you, Your Goodness.”

The others quietly echo her response.

After that, Glinda leaves without much fanfare. The group follows her back out to her carriage, but they’re much less enthusiastic with their goodbyes than they were with their greetings. Then they’re gone, retreating back into the manor, and Glinda climbs into the carriage to ride back to the palace.

Almost as soon as they’re through the gates of her estate, she hears the pattering of something falling against the roof of the carriage. Glinda scoots closer to the window and peers out. Sure enough, it’s started to rain.

There are people calling out to her, still, but the streets are much emptier now. Glinda leans back against her bench again, listening to the rain beat gently against the roof, drowning out the crying of her name.

-

Two letters sit on her desk when she returns to her chambers that evening. Glinda walks over to them before even taking off her shoes. The first is in a neat green envelope with a golden seal. She slides it open and finds a letter from the captain of the Gale Force, asking to meet with her soon, as they haven’t had the opportunity yet. It’s short, and polite, and Glinda immediately knows what her answer will be. She’ll invite him here, to her own chambers, for tea. He’ll be flattered by her welcoming him into such a private place, and she’ll be able to face him on her own terms.

She already has a piece of parchment and a pen out when she remembers the second letter. She reaches for it and flips it over to find her name written in neat, tiny cursive. Boq’s handwriting.

He and Crope must be talking about her. Extensively. Glinda drops the envelope. She doesn’t want to know what’s inside. Besides, she has work to do. She’ll worry about Boq later.

She picks up the pen and parchment once more and sets about writing her reply to the captain.

-

A few days later, Glinda wakes up early, several hours before she has to be anywhere. She has a little bit of time between her last meeting and tea with the captain, but she’d rather not rely on that.

So she pushes herself up from the bed and gets ready, keeping an eye out for anything unusual in the room. She’s kept it relatively spotless—her study is a different story, of course, but she organized that last night. The only thing that stands out to her is the door in the corner that leads to her tower.

Surely the Gale Force knows only she has access to that tower. The whole palace knows. And yet…the Wizard had so many smoke and mirrors, there’s still a chance nobody knows just _how _she has access to it.

Glinda walks over to the door and places her hand on it. She doesn’t pause to wonder if this is paranoia, or what will happen if—upon close inspection—the captain or anyone else sees through her spell. She just casts it, and soon enough there is no longer a door in front of her. It’s just a blank wall.

Satisfied, she leaves her chambers and heads down a floor to meet with her governors.

They’re all in the room when she arrives. She hears them, even before she’s close to the doorway. In fact, that’s the only time she hears them—as soon as she’s in sight, every last one of them goes quiet. They sit taller. They angle their heads toward her, waiting, but very few of them look up from their hands folded on the table.

It’s a mind-numbing meeting, and she spends most of it thinking about what the afternoon will bring. But when they finish a little after lunch, they’ve still managed to accomplish everything they need to.

Glinda wastes no time in post-meeting pleasantries. She is on her feet almost as soon as she dismisses them all. Once again, most of the board nod their goodbyes in her direction without fully looking at her. The only exception is the Gale Force officer, and his superior. They both meet her gaze as she stands and gathers herself, and though their expressions are smooth, Glinda can’t help but wonder if they know something she doesn’t.

She does her best to put it out of her mind as she takes the stairs up to the third floor and her chambers. Whatever they know, she’ll find out soon enough. Besides, it’s easy to forget about them when, upon stepping out of the stairwell and around the corner, she finds her bedroom door open.

Glinda pauses in the hallway. She doesn’t see or hear anyone, neither through the crack in her door or anywhere else on this side of the floor. For a moment, she considers using her sensing spell to check what’s going on, but the effort doesn’t quite seem worth it. It’s just the captain, thinking he can act behind her back without her knowing. And even if it’s not him—well, she can handle herself just fine.

Still, she takes her time and creeps softly to the door. Whatever the captain’s doing in there, he’s doing it well. She can’t hear him at all. Glinda puts a hand to the door and eases it open further.

He’s just sitting at a little table in the corner, legs crossed, hands folded over his knees. He looks up at her as she steps into the room. Glinda is reminded of the party where they first met. He looks much the same—still graying, still stiff and well-trimmed, still in his green and gold jacket.

She hates him. She hates that he was there at that party. It was his presence that brought that boy running in with the news from Kiamo Ko. It was his soldiers who searched the castle and confirmed Elphaba was gone. It’s his fault, she decides, and she hates him for it.

“Your Goodness,” he says, rising to his feet. “You’ll have to forgive my intrusion.”

“Of course, Captain.” She strides over and offers her hand. He takes it with a little bow, just as he did the first time they spoke. “Though I have to ask—do you usually make a habit of letting yourself into other people’s chambers?”

He raises an eyebrow, just slightly, just for a second, before resuming a blank expression and letting her hand go.

“I can’t say that I do, Your Goodness. I must admit that I was curious. You don’t invite many people here, from what I’ve heard.”

“You are special in that regard, yes.”

His smile is more obvious than his previous reaction. Glinda gestures toward the table.

“Please, sit. A servant should be up shortly with a tray.” They take their seats on either side of the table. Glinda leans forward. “Now, tell me. What is it you wanted to talk about?”

“I suppose there are a few specifics to discuss, Your Goodness, but mostly I just wanted to spend some time together. We’ve both been so unfortunately busy, I feel I haven’t seen you since before this entire mess began.”

She nods along, listening as he goes on. It’s a pleasant speech, and mostly useless, but Glinda still pays close attention. His mouth forms the words through a smile, but his eyes stay unchanged, calculating, fixed on her. His hands, too, are still. There’s no gesturing or fidgeting. He’s confident. He’s carefully considered every piece of information he gives her, and how he gives it, and how well it hides the things he doesn’t want to say.

Glinda thinks of the soldier who attacked a Vinkan boy in the streets, the guard who stopped her in the hallway, the way the two Gale Force men on her board look at her during every meeting. Perhaps it’s time. Here, in her chambers, when this man thinks he has complete control over the scene, is the place to make her first move.

If she’s going to do this, she needs to be decisive. He and his Gale Force must learn, as everyone else in the palace has, that she’s not to be taken lightly. 

She waits for a natural lull in the conversation. They discuss her transition to the palace and her inaugural ceremony. A servant comes up with a tray of tea and sandwiches, he compliments her on her work in the throne room, and she remarks how well disciplined the Gale Force seem. Eventually their talk begins to shift from polite discussion to anecdotes, and that’s when she deems it time.

“I heard,” she says, adopting the same tone she used to take with Shenshen or Pfannee, back when they still occasionally swapped rumors over lunch, “that there’s a floor beneath the servants’ areas of the palace. Is that true?”

The captain smiles, and this time it does reach his eyes. He tilts his head up and to the side, looking at her from an angle. When he speaks, his voice is warm. Amused.

“Why do you ask, Your Goodness? I daresay you have your hands full with the floors that do exist.”

She smiles herself, leaning in further. “Oh, but I wouldn’t have to worry about this one, now would I, Captain?”

“There’s much you don’t need to worry yourself about,” he agrees.

“Still.” Her fingertips tingle with magic. It creeps up her spine and into her words. “I’d very much like to see it. Old buildings like this have always fascinated me. Would you do me the honor of showing me around sometime?”

“If you’d like, Your Goodness, we can go right now.”

He furrows his brow, but the words are out, and Glinda doesn’t give him time to take them back. She reaches across the table and touches his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze for good measure.

“How kind of you to offer! That would be lovely. Shall we?”

She rises to her feet and, still frowning, the captain follows suit. Glinda rounds the table and touches his arm again. Whether it’s from the spell or just instinct, he offers her his arm, and she tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow. Her fingers rub against the fabric of his jacket, just once, just enough to make him blush and get rid of the last of his doubt.

He leads them out of the room and to the main staircase. They go up a floor, which throws Glinda off until she realizes they’re heading for the closed-off room she saw on her first tour of the palace. Glinda puts on a smile as the captain pushes the door open.

It’s a large, plain room, mostly full of bookshelves and cabinets and a large, long table covered in papers. There aren’t many men, either, but every single one of them stands at attention the moment they see their captain enter the room. Glinda watches the shock cross their faces as they see her on the captain’s arm. She enjoys the way their eyes widen before settling back into blank, stoic stares. None of them question her, though. They all stand perfectly still, waiting for a command.

“At ease,” the captain says. “Return to your work.”

Most of them do, though all of them keep glancing at Glinda out of the corner of their eyes. But a group of soldiers near the table don’t continue their work, and instead step around so they’re all standing on the same side of the table—blocking, Glinda notices, any view of the papers on top.

“Captain,” one of them says, “If I may, sir, what is going on?”

Glinda speaks up before the captain can. “I asked for a tour. I hadn’t seen this part of the palace yet, you know, and your captain was kind enough to show me around.”

“Yes,” says the captain, cutting off any argument. “I’m showing Her Goodness around. It’s no bother. Just go back to your work.”

Glinda meets the soldier’s eyes and gives him her best smile. He seems entirely unconvinced.

“But sir—”

“I think my orders were clear,” the captain snaps. All of the soldiers bow their heads and disperse. No one else speaks up or even looks at them—not even when the captain leads them to the door at the far corner of the room.

He opens it to reveal a staircase spiraling down, just like in Glinda’s chambers, though this one appears to get much more use. Glinda has to let go of his arm to step into the tower, but the stairs are wide enough that she can take it again as soon as he locks the door behind them.

It’s not easy, keeping hold of him. There’s an ever-present doubt in his mind, and though he’s greatly enjoying the attention she gives him, she only has to make one wrong move before that doubt takes over. But she isn’t overwhelmed with the effort, either. The complexity of the spell should be spiraling out of her control, yet she feels as confident as she would knocking out a wall or conjuring her flames.

She shakes the thought away and refocuses on the tower. She can’t hear any other footsteps or voices in the stairwell. The solitude seems to ease the captain’s mind, and he takes them more confidently toward the bottom of the tower. Glinda pays attention to the landings they pass. Third floor, second, first, and then even further down. Each one has a heavy door, bolted shut, presumably leading out somewhere onto each floor. Glinda decides against asking where. She can figure it out later, on her own.

They reach the bottom floor, and the captain pulls a key from his belt.

“Do only you have access, then?” Glinda asks.

“All of my officers have a key,” he says, unlocking the door with a weighty, satisfying click. “Those who don’t must report for duty on time or risk being locked out.”

He pushes the door open and they walk through. Much like the room above, everyone drops what they’re doing to stand at attention when they see him. And much like up there, they all stare at Glinda in disbelief.

“Gentlemen,” the captain says. “As you were.”

Unlike last time, no one goes back to their work. They continue to watch, trading shock for suspicion and, in some cases, disdain. Glinda ignores them—none of them make any move toward her, not when she’s on the captain’s arm—and instead takes in the floor they’ve entered.

From what she can see, it’s mostly one large, open room. Columns are spread evenly all the way across the floor, and curtains hang from a few of them to create makeshift rooms, but she can still see most of the area. It’s a training ground, she thinks. There are racks of swords and rifles, targets set along part of one wall, leather dummies in various states of distress. Many of the men are gathered in the corner to Glinda’s left, where wooden posts have been set up in a makeshift ring. Someone stands near a grinding wheel and a table full of blades. Through a gap in one of the curtains, she sees a row of cots.

It all seems perfectly harmless. Nothing out of the ordinary for military operations. Except, at the far end of the room, she can see another door—made of iron rather than the palace’s standard wood, and guarded by two men who, even from this far away, do not look pleased to see her.

“Captain.” A few soldiers approach them. The one who speaks has his hand on the sword at his belt. “Sir, you—what—”

“Go on,” the captain says. “Spit it out, you’re wasting our time.”

The room tenses further. Glinda watches the soldier’s cheeks darken at the reprimand. His knuckles turn white around the hilt of his sword.

“_Captain_,” he hisses, “have you lost your mind?”

“Watch your mouth, boy. Are you really disrespecting me in front of the leader of this nation?”

“With all due respect sir,” someone else chimes in, “this is highly unusual behavior.”

“Is it?” Glinda asks. “I don’t see what’s so odd about visiting parts of my palace.”

None of the soldiers like that. Glinda has to bite back a smirk as more of them start to glare at her.

Another soldier walks up to the group. He nods toward Glinda, then turns to his peers.

“Gentlemen.” His voice is deep and pleasant. “I don’t see where you find the arrogance to question both our captain and Her Goodness.”

“Are you telling me you see nothing wrong with this, General?”

“Is there something wrong?” asks Glinda. They all turn to her, and she gazes coolly into the eyes of the soldier who spoke. “Am I not allowed here?”

He scowls at her, but apparently has no response.

Another one speaks up instead. “With all due respect, Your Goodness, the Wizard never came down here.”

Glinda stares him down as well. “Perhaps, but I am not the Wizard. In fact, if you haven’t noticed already, sir, I’m doing everything in my power to be as different from him as possible.”

“That’s well enough, Lady, but that doesn’t mean you have to be down here.”

“Your reluctance tells me otherwise.”

A pause follows her words. Glinda squeezes the captain’s arm, urging a little more energy into her spell.

“Enough of this,” he says. “I will not tolerate this disrespect. You all have work to do, so do it. Anyone who wants to keep doubting me can hand over their weapons and head upstairs. Starting with you two,” he adds, glaring at the two men who had questioned them.

They both stare openly at him, looking as if they’d been struck. When the captain doesn’t say anything else, they lower their heads and walk off. Glinda watches them head to one of the weapons racks and hang up their swords, then move back past Glinda and the captain to get to the door.

By the time they’re gone, back up the tower, the room has returned to normal. The captain has fallen silent again, so Glinda turns instead to the deep-voiced man who had spoken up for her.

“Thank you for your support” she tells him. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

“General Lakree, Your Goodness. It’s an honor.”

Glinda frowns. “I’ve heard your name before, General.”

“Probably, Your Goodness. I hear the captain was in your company when he received my report from Kiamo Ko.”

Lakree. In the Kells.

He checked the castle himself.

_The Witch is dead._

“Yes,” Glinda manages. “Yes, that’s it.”

“Are you just touring our quarters?” Lakree asks her. “Or did you come here with a purpose?”

Glinda pulls herself together so she can decide how much to trust him. The captain stands idly at her side. She’s not sure how much more she’ll get out of him without pushing too far, so maybe this general is her best bet.

“Just looking,” she tells him. “I studied a bit of architecture in school, you see, and I’ve heard some fascinating rumors about the levels beneath the palace.”

“Have our humble training grounds met your expectations?”

“It seems like a quite functional use of space. I have to wonder if you miss the sunlight, though. Surely spending so much time underground isn’t good for you.”

Lakree gives a quiet, rumbling laugh. “I suppose it’s not. Don’t worry, we make sure everyone gets out often enough. There are only a few guards posted down here in our off hours.”

“I’m glad to hear.” Glinda looks him up and down. She decides to risk it. “I was wondering if you could answer another question for me.”

“Anything, Your Goodness.”

Glinda points toward the other side of the room. “Where does that door lead?”

The room falls still again, just for a moment, as everyone glances between her and the doorway. They all immediately return to their tasks, but Glinda has no doubt they’re still straining to listen. The guards at that door, too, are leaning ever so slightly toward her.

When Lakree doesn’t immediately answer, Glinda gives him a knowing smile.

“I have my suspicions, of course,” she tells him. “One does hear rumors. Especially when she’s friends with most of the wives in the city’s upper class.”

Lakree laughs again, any hesitation gone. “I suppose you would. Well, since you already know, I don’t see any harm in telling you.”

Many of the soldiers turn to glare at him. Others close their eyes and look away, as if they can’t bear to hear what he says next. Even the captain, who’s reacted to nothing since he last spoke, winces just slightly at his words.

“We call it Southstairs,” Lakree tells her. “All of Oz’s most dangerous criminals are down there.”

“An underground prison,” breathes Glinda, staring at the door. “How big is it?”

“Miles, Your Goodness, and a fair number of floors deep. It’s designed to be a maze. Very few know how to navigate it.”

Next to her, the captain shifts his feet. She decides she’s learned enough.

“That’s a remarkable feat,” she says. “All of this is quite impressive, in fact.”

“I’m glad you’re pleased, Your Goodness.”

“Thank you. But really, I hate to waste anymore of your time. I’ve caused enough of a stir as it is.”

“Please, don’t mind them,” says Lakree. “Many of the men around here don’t like change, that’s all.”

She doesn’t think that’s all, but she’s happy to accept his answer for now.

“I appreciate that, General. I should still be getting back, though. I have my own work to attend to.”

“Of course, Your Goodness.” He bows a little, still smiling warmly, before walking away.

Glinda is left standing with the captain. She’s not quite sure what to do next—should she ask him to escort her back up, or should she just leave him here? She decides to leave him. She doesn’t want to be in his company any more than she has to, and even if he snaps out of it the moment she walks away, it won’t matter. She’s been here. She has the information she needs.

She squeezes his arm once last time and lets go. But as she turns to leave, she thinks of something else.

“Captain,” she says, facing him again.

“Your Goodness.”

“I have an order for you. A new prisoner for Southstairs.”

“Your Goodness?”

“She’s been found guilty on many counts, including murder. I believe she was working with the Wizard, and that’s why he pardoned her, but I don’t plan to tolerate such crimes against Oz.”

“Of course, Your Goodness,” the captain says. “Just say the word, and I’ll make it a top priority.”

“It won’t be hard,” Glinda says. “It’s just the old hag from Shiz. Madame Morrible.”

-

The first thing she sees when she returns to her study is Boq’s letter, still sitting unopened on her desk. Glinda sighs and collapses into her chair. She picks up the envelope and tears it open.

It’s nothing fancy. Boq always was more practical than any of the others. And more forgiving. All he wants is to see her, he tells her, and find out what he can do to help.

Poor Boq. Dear Boq. It’s a long journey from Munchkinland, and she knows he doesn’t really have the money to travel, let alone leave his farm for very long. It’s been years since they last saw each other. She wonders how he’s changed.

Glinda pulls out a sheet of paper and writes a quick response inviting him to the palace. If nothing else, he loved Elphie, too.

When her letter is sealed and sent off with a servant, Glinda decides she’s done enough for one day. She leaves her study and heads instead for her balcony. It’s too cold, really, to be out here without a coat, but once she’s there she doesn’t feel like going back inside. She goes to the railing and looks out.

The city is quiet this evening. It’s already getting dark, but it’s not nearly late enough for any night life. She supposes everyone is huddled inside for dinner. From down below, she can just catch the smell of a warm meal being made. Soon enough, someone will be knocking on her door with a dinner tray. Will it be Marva, scolding her for not eating enough? Or will it be some other poor, quivering kid from the kitchens? Glinda rolls her eyes and leans heavily against the rail. Maybe if she just doesn’t answer when they come, they’ll leave her alone.

She looks down at the gardens below her. A lamp post sits in the middle, and in its light she can just make out the silhouette of a guard leaning against a doorway. The saplings that line the sidewalk look even barer than usual, and beneath them lies a sprinkling of red and orange leaves.

How long has she been here? It was warm when she left her estate. But it can’t have been that long, can it? The throne room is nearly finished, and the new orphanage is all but up and running, but those were the first things she proposed. And she works quickly. Has it been a few weeks? Months? If the leaves are changing, and she can see her breath puffing out in front of her…

It’s an odd thought, the idea of time passing. Isn’t time supposed to heal all things? She doesn’t feel particularly healed.

_Maybe that’s the point_, she thinks bitterly. It’s just her luck, isn’t it? She heals Oz, but gets none of it for herself.

A knock on the door pulls her out of her thoughts. Right on time. Just like she predicted. Glinda stays on the balcony and wills it away.

Another knock. They won’t enter without permission. They’ll have to give up eventually. Maybe they’ll assume she’s somewhere else.

And again.

Glinda pushes off the rail and strides back through the room. She swings the door open to see Sherald standing there holding the dinner tray, his eyes wide and concerned.

“Your Goodness,” he says with a little bow. “They made your favorite soup tonight.”

“No thank you, Sherald. Take it back with my apologies. I’m not hungry tonight.”

“Are you sure, Your Goodness? I can leave the tray a while, just in case.”

“I said no, thank you.”

“But—” He stops himself, his cheeks flushing pink. “Forgive me, Your Goodness, it’s just that Miss Marva asked me to—”

“I don’t care what Marva asked you to do. I told you to take it back.”

“Y-yes, Your Goodness.”

“And don’t come here again unless you’re called. Tell the others, too—no one is to bother me unless I summon them. Do you understand?”

Sherald takes a step back. He ducks his head. “Yes,” he says, voice lower than she’s ever heard it. “I understand. Your Goodness.”

Glinda turns away and shuts the door without another word.

-

A few days pass, and Glinda plans her next move carefully. She wants to act quickly—she hasn’t seen much of the Gale Force, but by now they’re certainly suspicious of her. And her magic. Perhaps she has some supporters in their ranks, like General Lakree, but she can’t rely on anything other than herself.

Late, late one night, when even the night shift guards are bleary with exhaustion, Glinda steps out of her chambers and starts to make her way across the third floor to the southwestern corner. This will be the easiest entrance, she thinks, since the fourth floor door is within the Gale Force’s quarters, and the bottom two floors are more open to the public.

She moves slowly, all of her energy focused on the spell she’s casting. She can sense the layout of the entire floor. There’s a guard posted at the main staircase, and another walking down the hall where Glinda stayed when she first came to the palace. She avoids them both easily. If this is going to work, no one can know she was ever out of her rooms tonight.

As she nears the tower, her magic slips across a crack in one of the walls. Glinda walks up to it. She can't see anything—she suspects that would be the case even if it weren’t so dark—but she definitely senses an outline. She runs her fingers over the wall, and sure enough she catches a little groove.

She hesitates, turning her focus away from the third floor and into the tower. It’s empty, as far as she can tell. Now or never. The Gale Force start their day early, and if she waits too long, she’ll risk running into the morning crew.

She digs her fingers into the groove. It’s deeper than she expects, and after a moment of fumbling she catches a latch. It gives with a quiet click, and she feels something shift in front of her. Tentatively, she presses her other hand to the wall. It swings open.

Glinda slips inside and makes sure the door latches shut behind her. She was right—the tower is empty. At the bottom of the staircase, she can just barely sense the door leading to the Gale Force’s floor. She makes her way down.

Lakree had been right, she realizes as she approaches the door. Most of the soldiers in the room beyond are asleep, and the few that are awake and alert aren’t standing near the door. Glinda puts her hand to it and concentrates harder. There are two men at the door leading down to Southstairs. Another three are gathered closer to her. Glinda focuses on them. She thinks they’re sitting. A table between them. One of them says something and reaches forward, and the rest of them groan and slump back in their chairs.

Cards, maybe? Glinda lessens her focus and strains her ears instead.

“…can’t believe it,” one of them grumbles.

“You do have rotten luck, my friend.”

“That, or you’re cheating.”

“Me? I would never.”

“Relax, you two,” a third voice says. “Come on. It’s your turn.”

They fall quiet for a moment. Glinda presses herself to the door.

“No way,” one says. “No way in Oz. He’s bluffing.”

“Who, me? Would I ever lie to you?”

“Yes, and you’re terrible at it, by the way.”

“Why? Am I not charming enough?”

“Alright, Your Goodness,” one of them scoffs. The other two chuckle. “At least she has a pretty face to back her up.”

“A pretty face isn’t enough to trick the captain,” says another. “She did something to him, I’m sure of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, she’s a witch, isn’t she?”

The others hush him hastily.

“Watch your mouth,” one of them says. “What if someone heard you say something so insulting?”

“It’s the truth, isn’t it? She has magic. That makes her a witch.”

“_Shut it_,” the other one hisses.

All other protest is cut off by the scraping of chairs. A new voice speaks.

“At ease, gentlemen,” says the captain. Glinda tenses. “You’re right, son.”

“Sir?”

“Her Goodness is a witch.” He sounds far more tired than the last time she heard him speak. “We might not know how wicked she is, if she is at all, but she’s certainly not to be trusted. Be wary of her, all of you.”

“We’re not the ones who should be afraid,” the first soldier says. “I hope Her Goodness is smart enough to watch her back. She might be adored by the people, but she’s in way past her depth down here.”

Is she? Glinda steps back from the door. She’s heard enough. She has enough.

The captain came up from Southstairs, she supposes, and soon he’ll probably be coming through this door. Glinda puts her energy back toward her sensing spell and turns to make her way back up the tower. It’s too easy, really, and she makes it all the way back to her chambers without being seen.

-

She lets a week pass, keeping an eye out all the time for any sign of retaliation. But the captain must be playing a patient game, too, because she neither sees nor hears anything.

Not much after a full week, though, she’s getting too antsy to let it sit any longer. She calls for a meeting with her board and invites the captain. _I believe we still have business to discuss, _she writes in her note. His reply is quick and enthusiastic. She smiles as she reads it, wondering how much he knows about her board of governors. Does he realize that, yet again, he’ll be facing her on her own territory?

The governors are quiet the morning of the meeting. She’s already sitting at the head of the table when most of them arrive, and they greet her with a soft word or a nod of their head. The captain is the last to arrive. He seems unfazed by this, and sits down stiffly in the open chair across from the Gale Force officer on her board.

“Thank you for joining us, Captain,” Glinda says when they’ve all turned to her. “As you know, we’ve talked about some of this already, but I felt we should have an official meeting before we continue to work together.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Your Goodness,” he says. “We have much to discuss.”

The officer already on her board is sitting taller than usual. He’s the only one not looking at her. Instead, his eyes are set firmly on his captain.

“On the contrary, sir,” she says, “I believe we only have one major order of business.”

The captain leans forward. “And that is?”

Glinda raises her chin. She locks eyes with him. She’s rehearsed her answer a dozen times.

“I am shutting down the Gale Force.”

A ripple runs through the room, but it’s far more controlled than she expected. She doesn’t look away from the captain, but out of the corner of her eyes she sees her governors shift and fall still again.

The captain, on the other hand, has no such restraint. He stares openly at her, long enough for everyone to catch the shock on his face. Glinda waits for him to compose himself.

After a long, silent moment, he says, “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“That’s alright. I understand if this seems sudden.” Glinda gives him a smile. Across the table, the other officer bristles. “But I’ve given it quite a lot of thought, and I believe this is the best option going forward. From now on, there will only be the palace guard, and you and all of your men will answer directly to me.”

His face shifts slowly into a glare as she speaks. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple. Your Goodness.”

“I disagree, and I haven’t brought you here to debate the matter. I’m firm in this decision, Captain.”

Around the table, the governors stiffen. A few lean back in their chairs.

“Lady Glinda—”

“I will not run a nation with a secret police.”

“I assure you, Your Goodness, we’re not—”

“Nor will I be run by one,” Glinda says. “From now on, every order comes from and goes through me first. Anyone who tries to do otherwise will be investigated and, if found guilty, convicted of treason. Am I understood?”

He leans back in his chair and says nothing.

“Answer me, Captain. Am I understood?”

His face darkens. Closes. But his voice is clear. “Yes, Your Goodness.”

Glinda smiles. “Lovely. This is effective immediately, so unless you had something you wanted to bring up, I believe we’re done here. After all, you have news for your men.”

“Yes, Your Goodness.”

“Was there anything else you wanted to discuss? We’ll of course be meeting regularly from now on, but if you have something now—”

“No, Your Goodness. I believe that’s all.”

She lets his words sit, drinking in the way the governors’ eyes dart between the two of them. She lets him think he’s gotten away with interrupting her.

“Excellent. In that case, you’re dismissed.”

He rises immediately, his chair scraping loudly as he pushes away from the table. Glinda waits, hands folded on the table, until he’s almost at the door.

“Captain?” She tilts her head his way but doesn’t quite look toward him. “I know this must be difficult for you, but I’m warning you now: if anything happens—if a single word is uttered against me—I will know about it.” Now she turns fully, staring directly into his eyes. “I _am _smart enough to watch my back. You know this, don’t you?”

His eyes widen. He reaches for his sword, then seems to catch himself. His fingers flex and, after a moment, he drops his hand. “Y-yes,” he says, softer than before. “Of course, Your Goodness.”

Glinda nods toward him. He bows his head and leaves.

When he’s gone, she turns back to her table and looks around, her eyes lingering on the Gale Force officer. “Does anyone else have anything to add?”

Silence. They don’t even shake their heads.

“Wonderful. In that case, this meeting is adjourned.”

-

To the captain’s credit, the palace immediately changes.

The next time she meets with her board, the officer and his retired superior sit lower in their chairs and avert their eyes when she looks at them. She goes out walking one night and purposefully runs into a soldier on the fourth floor. He nods and steps out of her way as they pass in the hall.

A few soldiers go out of their way to introduce themselves to her, and she starts to suspect she had more allies in the Gale Force than she thought. Others, however, take to avoiding her. Like the governors, their conversations cease the moment she’s in sight. She notices some of them standing taller when she approaches. She feels their eyes following her long after she moves past them.

She notes all of this with amusement, but doesn’t think about it too much because, just as she knew it would, her work in the palace continues without much incident. She schedules weekly meetings with the captain, and every day she has multiple officers reporting to her. Sometimes the captain sends them; sometimes he has no idea they speak to her.

The throne room officially opens as a shelter, and almost immediately the palace doors are open to the city’s homeless. Most are Gillikin, but there are a few Quadlings, Vinkans, and Munchkins. Glinda makes sure she always knows who is working in the shelter, and she visits nearly every day to ensure all is running smoothly.

She’s taking visitors one day when a Vinkan woman staggers up to her, clutching her side and speaking words Glinda doesn’t understand.

“Your Goodness,” the woman mumbles once she’s close enough. That one Glinda understands. She sends away the crowd that’s gathering around them and helps the woman lie down.

“You!” she calls to one of the soldiers standing nearby. He freezes, the color draining from his face. The man next to him nudges him forward.

“Y-yes, Y-your Goodness?”

Glinda narrows her eyes. He’s visibly shaking, and he stops a few feet away from her. She recognizes his voice, too, but she can’t quite place it.

“Get a doctor and a board to move her.” When he doesn’t immediately move, she adds, “_Now_.”

“Y-y-yes, Your Goodness!”

Now she remembers. He’s one of the soldiers who was playing cards that night. The one who said she should watch her back. He trips over himself, stumbling in his effort to move quickly, and Glinda has to bite back a smirk. Good. He should be afraid.

He returns quickly and, still keeping as much distance between them as possible, helps get the woman upstairs to the shelter. Glinda watches them leave, deeply enjoying herself when she sees him look nervously over his shoulder at her.

_Where’s your arrogance? _she thinks. But she knows it’s long gone, as is everyone else’s. Once again, she’s won.

-

Just as she feared, once the Gale Force is disbanded, Glinda’s life settles fully into a boring, wearisome routine. A meeting here, a visit there, shake this person’s hand and welcome that person to the palace. There are days when she feels like she can’t keep going—when her cheeks ache when she smiles and she can feel the cloth tied tightly around her arm, weighing her down—but she does anyway. She does, because the palace needs to be run, and changes need to be made, and the people are looking to her.

But the days are so bleak.

It doesn’t help that it’s getting colder. The streets of the Emerald City are far emptier when she rides her carriage through them. The children who were jumping in leaf piles are now huddled in groups, if they’re outside at all. People don’t stand on the sidewalk waving—they’re too busy rushing inside to get out of the wind. The streets themselves are lined with the black trudge of rotting leaves. Most of the trees are bare.

On the night she travels back to the southwest tower, there’s already a fine layer of frost on the ground. She had spent the evening on her balcony, shivering, listening as the city retreats for the night. 

She doesn’t even really think about going. One second she’s on the balcony, and the next she’s putting on shoes and leaving her chambers. It’s fine, of course. It doesn’t take too much thought to make her way to the far side of the floor, slip through the hidden door, and descend the stairs to the training grounds beneath the palace. It doesn’t even take much thought when she gets there. She just walks in, strides up to the guards posted at the door to Southstairs, and asks to be taken down.

“Of course, Your Goodness,” one of them says, “Which cell can I escort you to?”

“Madame Morrible’s.”

The guard beckons someone else over to take his post, then pulls a key ring from his pocket and unlocks the door. It swings open slowly, heavily, and just like that, she’s in Southstairs.

Glinda glances over her surroundings as the guard leads her down. It’s not overly impressive. Rock walls, dirt floors, and the occasional torch flickering in its sconce.

It is, however, massive, and Glinda spares a moment to be impressed that this guard knows where he’s going at all. The stairs angle sharply down from the training floor, then around a corner. They must be far beneath the surface by the time the hall starts branching off into more corridors—each blocked off by their own heavy iron door.

She doesn’t bother to pay attention to where they’re going. She just walks alongside the guard, watching the glow of the torches flicker over the gaunt faces in the cells they pass.

She isn’t sure what she’s expecting when they reach Morrible’s cell. Either way, though, it doesn’t happen. Nothing happens. The guard just slows down, then stops, pointing to a set of bars a few feet further down the hall.

“Thank you,” Glinda tells him. “You can go.”

“Your Goodness—”

“Leave.”

He leaves.

Glinda steps silently up to the cell. It looks as unimpressive as the hallways that brought her here. There’s a bucket in one corner, an empty tray near the door, and a pile of straw with a blanket spread over it along the far wall. Even less impressive, however, is the woman sitting within. Glinda steps up to the bars and peers in at her.

Morrible has suffered from poor health for years now, and prison doesn’t seem to be doing her any favors. Her hair hangs in thick, filthy strands around a face so wrinkled Glinda can barely make out the once-familiar features. She sits on the ground, in the middle of the dirt floor, her bones jutting out. Glinda can’t tell if she’s lost that much weight, or if it’s just the lack of stiff, ridiculous clothes Morrible always used to wear.

She looks awful, but when she lifts her head to meet Glinda’s gaze, she smiles.

“Miss Glinda,” she rasps. “What an honor.”

Glinda crosses her legs and sits down on the other side of the bars.

“Oh, I see,” Morrible says. “It’s not Glinda anymore, is it? Do you only go by _Your Goodness _now?”

Glinda stares at her. She’s never seen Morrible without a heavy layer of powder on her face. And she’s never heard this sickly, gasping voice. She tries to put it all with the headmistress she once knew.

“Just look at you, dearie. What’s wrong? You look so sad. Don’t you have everything you ever wanted?” Morrible tilts her head. Her lips curl. “Popularity. Power. And you’re still such a pretty little thing. Do you realize how lucky you are?”

Glinda realizes she’s gripping the bars of the cell. Her knuckles have turned white around the iron.

“Glinda the Good,” Morrible simpers. “She’s so good. She has everything. So what is it? Why aren’t you happy?”

She’s not happy. Not even now, looking at the ragged remains of a woman she hates so much. She’s not happy at all.

Glinda pulls herself to her feet. She feels Morrible’s eyes on her, but she ignores it and carefully brushes the dirt off her dress. Then she walks away, leaving Morrible to stare, smug but helpless, after her.

-

Glinda is in meetings when Boq arrives at the palace.

She knew she would be—she didn’t manage to clear her morning schedule, and besides, he can’t really expect that of her anyway—but it still feels odd knowing that he’s somewhere in the building and she’s stuck in a room with her governors and the servants who have just brought up lunch.

As such, she’s quick to jump to her feet once the meeting is adjourned.

“You’re not joining us, Your Goodness?” one of the men asks. A couple of the others look up at her, but most have their eyes on the dishes that are being placed in front of them.

“No,” says Glinda. “I have a visitor to attend to.”

“Yeah, a Munchkin.”

She wouldn’t have known who said it, except that he immediately flinches and pales. Glinda stares him down.

“Excuse me?”

“N-nothing, Your Goodness. Forgive me.”

The room has fallen still. Even the servants have stopped what they’re doing to fall back against the walls, out of her line of sight.

Glinda continues to watch him as he tries hard not to fidget beneath her gaze.

“As I thought,” she says eventually. The room is still silent as she turns and walks out.

Boq is waiting for her in a small dining room on the other side of the floor. He rises to his feet when Glinda steps through the door.

“Glinda,” he says, stepping toward her. She sees him stop himself from coming any closer. “It’s been too long.”

“Dear Boq.” She closes the distance and hugs him, briefly. “Have you already eaten?”

“I had a late breakfast with Crope.” He tilts his head at her. “Have you?”

Glinda steps away from him and gestures to the door. “How long have you been here? I can show you around, if you’d like.”

“Not long. I wandered around the grounds a bit before I found someone who could tell me where to go.”

“Any of the servants could have helped you.”

“They were all busy, or huddled inside. It’s freezing out, you know.”

“I suppose.” Glinda leads him down the hall. “Let me show you the old throne room.”

“The one you converted?”

“That’s right. Then I can show you upstairs. You’ll adore the library on the fourth floor.”

“I’m sure I will,” says Boq.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t greet you when you arrived.”

“Don’t be. Oz knows you’re dealing with a lot.”

Glinda frowns, but he’s a step behind her and doesn’t catch it. She shakes herself and asks, “How have you found the palace so far?”

It takes him a moment to answer. Glinda glances over her shoulder just as he looks away from her face.

“It’s strange,” he says softly. “I never thought I’d see this place. Except for those days back at Shiz, I guess, when we all expected to be arrested at any time.”

“You wouldn’t have lived to see the palace then.”

He looks at her again, his brow furrowed. “I suppose not.”

Before she can think of a response, they reach the throne room. They don’t go in—it’s already so full of people—but Boq looks in through one of the windows and says something about how impressive it is.

“Crope says your manor was coming along well, too,” he says as they make their way to the staircase. “We read in the papers that it officially opened.”

“Yes. I’m pleased with it. It’s better than just selling the place.”

Boq is watching her again. Even without looking around at him, she can feel it. And they’re approaching some dangerous territory. She doesn’t want to talk about her estate, or anything else related to it. She’s afraid of where it will lead, and he’s only just got here.

But when Boq does speak, all he says is, “Did you know your stable master is part Munchkin?”

Glinda pauses, surprised. Boq comes to a stop beside her.

“You didn’t know?”

“I suspected, though he’s never actually told me. How do _you _know?”

“I saw him today, when I was out on the grounds.” Boq shrugs. “He speaks highly of you.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes. They all do.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Did I say it was?”

“No, it’s just…”

He’s staring at her again. Glinda continues walking.

The afternoon crawls by. By the time she shows him the library on the fourth floor, there’s not much left for them to say. At least, not anything they’re willing to bring up. But it’s coming. Glinda feels it. She sees it in the weight of Boq’s step, the way he keeps glancing at her as they wander through the library.

They take dinner in another small room on the third floor, not far from her chambers. The windows are already dark, even though it’s still somewhat early, so Glinda walks around the room flicking her fingers at the lanterns on the walls.

“You’re still practicing magic, then?” Boq asks.

“Of course,” she says. “How do you think I got this far.”

“Your intelligence and charm?”

“Those don’t get a lady anywhere.”

“And yet here you are.” He pulls out one of the chairs at the table. “Please, sit. You look tired, Glinda.”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

Their eyes meet. Boq looks away first. He lets go of the chair and crosses to his own seat.

Glinda sighs and lets herself sit down across from him. “Forgive me, Boq.”

He nods, but he doesn’t say anything. Not at first. Their dinner tray is already sitting on the table between them, brought up by a servant just before they arrived. Neither of them make any move to reach for it.

She hears Boq breathe before she hears him speak. He inhales shakily, then lets it out in a sigh.

“I miss her, too.”

Glinda turns her head away. If she looks at him, she’ll be furious with him, and then who knows what will happen. So she stares at a corner of the room instead. That’s when a thought occurs to her.

“You saw her.”

“What?”

“In Munchkinland,” Glinda says. “A few weeks before… You saw her.”

“So did you.”

“Why didn’t you stop her?”

“I couldn’t have known—”

“She was furious. Distraught. You saw her, and you just let her run off again.”

“Glinda.” Boq leans forward, trying to catch her gaze. “I tried to talk her down, but you know her. It was no use.”

“You could have done _something _different.”

“I didn’t know what would happen.” He hesitates before adding, “And neither did you.”

She turns back toward him, staring him down, but he doesn’t shrink away. He just looks calmly back at her, his eyes wide and sympathetic.

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

“What do you mean?”

“To the palace. To this city. You have a family, a life. You shouldn’t be here.”

“This _is_ part of my life, Glinda. You, her—all of it. I want to help.”

“You sound like Crope.” She scoffs. “Of course you do. The things you two have probably been saying about me.”

“We’re worried about you. That’s all.”

“Well, don’t be.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“Why not?” asks Glinda. “I told you, I don’t need your help. And I certainly don’t need your _concern_.”

“Glinda—”

“This was a mistake. You need to leave.”

Boq leans back in his seat. “Don’t. Don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“Push us away. We want to support you, and you can’t do this alone.”

Glinda laughs. “You haven’t been here, Boq. I _have _been doing this alone. Since the day she left me, I’ve been alone.”

“You don’t have to be,” he breathes.

“Yes, I do.” She pushes herself to her feet and turns her back on him. “Now get out, before I have you thrown out.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“You know what happened with Crope,” she whispers. “Leave, before I do something I don’t want to.”

No response. When Glinda turns, Boq is still just sitting there, arms crossed, staring stubbornly up at her.

Glinda closes her eyes. The darkness deepens as the lanterns flicker out. The temperature plummets. She looks up again, and there’s just enough moonlight to silhouette Boq’s face, the firm set of his jaw, his hair and clothes whipping around in the sudden freezing wind.

She clenches her fists and takes a breath, and after a moment, all is still again. Boq’s eyes glisten in the dark.

Magic courses through her veins. She can feel how cold her skin is, how much she’s trembling. She knows her voice will quiver, but she asks, anyway.

“Do you love me now?”

She remembers a time when that would have devastated Boq. Now, he just shakes his head.

“I only loved Glinda as a friend,” he says softly. “And you’re not her anymore.”

They stay like that: her shivering, him staring gently up at her. When the moment breaks, Glinda is the one to move. She walks around the table, past him, out the door and on her way down the hallway. He doesn’t follow.


	5. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, this is the most violent chapter. It's also the last one! So thank you to everyone who has read, liked, and commented this darker, quieter sort of story. It was definitely an experiment, and I'm glad y'all liked it (well, so far)  
Enjoy! <3

_This is the start of how it all ends_

_They used to shout my name, now they whisper it_

_I'm speeding up and this is the_

_Red, orange, yellow flicker beat sparking up my heart_

_We’re at the start, the colors disappear_

_I never watch the stars, there’s so much down here_

_So I just try to keep up with them_

_Red, orange, yellow flicker beat sparking up my heart_

_\---_

_Elphaba had over a year’s head start on her._

_By the time Glinda arrived in the Emerald City, Elphaba knew its every secret. She could navigate its hidden passages blindly—and she often had to. She could find any corner, any meet-up, any person that she wanted. She could linger around any corner and hear every word, and in the time it took you to glance twice in her direction, she could be gone. _

_Glinda followed, of course, as quickly as she could. But for all of her charm and contacts and desperation, she would never find her. _

_Elphaba had always been hard to find. In library corners no one else knew about, beneath a tree next to the Suicide Canal, buried deep within the science labs—if she didn’t want to be found, she wasn’t. Glinda should have known it was useless._

_And even if she found her, what would it change? They had chosen different lives: Elphaba something dangerous, and likely fruitless; Glinda something frivolous and comfortable. It seemed neither of them were destined to be content. If Glinda had found her, it would only be worse._

_So Elphaba hid. She kept her hood up and her head down, clung to the shadows, and she stayed away from Glinda. For Glinda’s safety, and for her own. If she saw what Glinda had become—something so pretty and petty and pointless—the devastation would be too much. She would know, then and there, that everything she had inspired in Glinda while they were at school had resulted in nothing._

_And Glinda couldn’t face her disappointment._

-

The Emerald City has become bitterly cold.

Even dressed in a thick, black dress and sitting in her best-insulated carriage, Glinda still feels the chill seeping into her skin. The rest of the city must feel it, too, because no one is out in the streets today. No one calls her name. Her carriage just rolls quietly through the district toward her estate.

It’s taking longer than usual, though. Glinda leans forward in her seat to peer out the window. She recognizes this road, at least, but it’s not on the way to her manor.

“Driver,” she says, leaning now toward the slot that lets her see him. “Where are you going?”

“To the new orphanage, Your Goodness.”

“This isn’t the way.”

He flicks the reins. “I don’t know what you mean, Your Goodness. It’s the way I’ve always gone.”

Glinda glances out the window again. If this is his usual route between the palace and her estate, he’s wasted a lot of hours driving this carriage.

“We’re almost there, Your Goodness. I’m sorry if there’s been any inconvenience.”

“No,” she says. “There’s no inconvenience.”

It’s just…odd.

They arrive at her manor with little fanfare. Like everywhere else in the city, its residents are huddled inside, out of the cold. One of the soldiers accompanying them offers Glinda his hand to step down. She ignores it and brushes past him, leading the way inside.

It’s a courtesy visit, coming here—for the most part, it’s pointless. But she hasn’t seen it up and running yet, and she had nothing else to do this morning, so here she is. Most of the staff greet her quietly before quickly rushing on with their business. The orphanage head is the only one who walks up to her.

“Your Goodness,” she says, curtsying slightly. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“Thank you.”

“Is there anything I can do for you? A meal? Another tour?”

“I think I prefer to have a look around myself, if you don’t mind.”

“O-of course, Your Goodness.”

Glinda moves past her, through the entrance hall and further into the manor.

It’s still somewhat early, and a few of the rooms she passes are full of children sleeping in bunks. The place seems to be just waking up. The staff move quietly from room to room with blankets and books and breakfast trays.

Glinda comes upon a room that feels busier than the others—perhaps because all the children inside are younger—and pauses in the doorway. Two of her old servants are in here—one reading to a small cluster of kids in the corner, and the other helping a little girl write her letters.

One of the kids in the corner spots Glinda, and all activity stops as they all spring up and run towards her.

“Glinda! Glinda! Glinda!”

Glinda kneels to greet them. They clamber over each other to get to her, not a trace of shyness among them.

“Miss Glinda the Good, is it true this was your house?”

“Did you grow up here?”

“Which one was your room?”

There’s no room between questions to answer, so Glinda just sits and half-listens.

“Is it true you made this place?”

“My friend says you always used to visit at the orphanage.”

“Yeah, but they also say you never go there anymore.”

The other children nod vigorously.

“They say it’s ‘cause you’re busy,” one of them says. “Are you really that busy?”

“Of course she is,” says another. “She runs the whole world, don’t you, Miss Glinda?”

“Missus Aven says you do scary stuff, too, like run the Gale Force.”

Glinda raises an eyebrow at that. She looks up and across the room, but both of the staff are suddenly too busy tidying to meet her gaze.

“Does she now?”

The child nods. “Yup. Is it true? Do you run the Gale Force, too?”

“That’s enough,” one of the women says. “We were in the middle of lessons, remember?”

The children around her pout, but Glinda rises to her feet.

“She’s right. Lessons are important. It was lovely talking to you all.”

“Bye, Miss Glinda!”

The women still won’t meet her eyes, so Glinda brushes herself off and leaves the room. She decides not to linger on it. Whoever this Mrs. Aven is—Glinda thinks she remembers a face, vaguely—it doesn’t matter what she says. It’s better, even, that she’s afraid.

She notices, however, that none of the other staff members are quite looking at her. They keep ducking into rooms as she turns down the hall they’re in. If they have to pass her, they bow their heads and look only at their feet.

She finds one exception: a maunt is standing at the head of what used to be a small dining hall. Several older children sit throughout the room, heads bent over prayer books, but the maunt looks openly at Glinda when she sees her. She stares, and she doesn’t say a word.

The rest of the visit is quiet and uneventful. Glinda eventually gets bored and returns to the main hall where her guard and the head are sitting.

“Your Goodness,” the head says, rising to her feet. “Did you find everything to your liking?”

Glinda smiles at her. “It’s a fine establishment. Tell me, though, is there a Mrs. Aven working here?”

The head frowns. “Yes, Your Goodness. She’s one of your old staff.”

Is she? Perhaps that’s why the name is familiar.

“Why? Would you like to speak with her?”

“No, no, that’s not necessary,” says Glinda. “Just—give her my compliments, will you? She must be doing a great job. The children speak very highly of her.”

The head nods. “Thank you, Your Goodness. I’ll pass on the message.”

Satisfied, Glinda nods her thanks and strides out of the room toward the entrance hall. Her guards hurry to their feet after her.

The ride back to the palace is as uneventful as the rest of the morning, but just out of curiosity, Glinda looks out the window the entire way. The driver turns the wrong way, looping around most of the neighborhood rather than going directly through it.

Glinda leans back in her seat. Her estate is within walking distance of the palace. Whatever her driver is avoiding, she’ll find it.

-

She doesn’t plan to go out that night. But she’s finished the stack of letters she has to send, and she’s read over all the documents she’s supposed to sign, and the first draft of a law she proposed to the governors that day is written. So, several hours past midnight with nothing else to do, she pulls on her heaviest cloak and makes her way down her tower.

It’s even colder at night, and she almost regrets her decision the moment she steps outside. But she wraps her cloak tightly around herself and, after a moment or two, she’s too numb to be that bothered.

Making her way out of the palace grounds is even easier than usual. The guards huddle close to the buildings, shivering and gripping their torches. Besides, even if they see her, none of them would dare question her. She doesn’t even bother to use her sense spell.

The streets are no different. Glinda walks calmly down the center of the road leading to her estate. There is nothing and no one in this city that can harm her. Not anymore. She raises her chin and throws her hood back. She slows down, walking leisurely through the district. It doesn’t matter. She has all the time in the world.

When she turns the corner onto the road her driver was avoiding this morning, she isn’t sure what she’s looking for. She just keeps her eyes open, glancing around the buildings and sidewalks. When she does come across it, she almost misses it.

Tucked into one of the alleyways branching off the road—far enough back that she might have missed it during the day, too, if she was in her carriage—a streak of dark paint cuts across one of the stone walls.

Glinda follows it. She hesitates at the alley’s opening, peering into the darkness. There’s nothing, not that she can see, so she heads further in and looks up at the paint.

It’s alarmingly massive. The letters are nearly as tall as she is, taking up most of this part of the wall, from ground to gutter. Glinda steps back to take in the entire message.

_The Witch Lives_

Glinda studies it. She wonders, vaguely, how they got the letters so high up on the wall. She tries to consider the words themselves, and what exactly they mean, but she keeps getting caught on that detail. Surely they would have needed a ladder. Or a friend, perhaps, but that would’ve been tricky to pull off. And how did they do it without getting caught? And, if her palace clearly knows about it, why hasn’t it been dealt with by now?

It seems a silly thing for her driver to get so worked up about, and a waste of her time to drive so far around it. Still, Glinda is lingering in the alleyway when the first light of dawn starts to creep over the horizon. She has to shake herself and force herself away from the graffiti. Soon there will be people in these streets, and they’ll recognize her, and she doesn’t feel like having to provide an explanation.

She moves faster on her way back to the palace, and it’s mostly still asleep by the time she arrives. A couple of guards, just starting their morning patrol, notice her and look dutifully away.

The stable, on the other hand, are already buzzing with activity. Glinda has to walk past them to get to the servants’ entrance near the kitchens, closest to her tower, and she can hear people moving around inside.

“Your Goodness.”

Glinda stops and forces herself to turn around. The stable master is standing there, smiling, holding an empty pail in one hand.

“Early morning, huh?”

“I had business to attend to,” she tells him.

Behind him, one of the stable hands starts whistling. A moment later, someone else joins in. All the while, Glinda can hear buckets being emptied and tools being scraped against the ground.

It’s warm, this place, and pleasant. She doesn’t understand it. Not with the bitter morning cold covering the entire grounds, and the amount of work that has them up and about this early in the day.

Speaking of, the stable master is still smiling at her. She narrows her eyes.

“I met your friend,” he says. “Master Boq. He was a pleasant fellow.”

“He’s not my friend,” Glinda tells him.

He falters. “Oh. My apologies, Your Goodness. I—I thought he was your visitor.”

“Not all visitors are my friends. Nor are all my servants.” She looks over his shoulder as she says this, toward the stables he’s supposed to be running.

He straightens and bows his head. “O-of course. My apologies, Your Goodness. I’ll leave you to it.”

Glinda is walking away almost before he finishes speaking.

-

The Witch lives.

It’s nonsense, Glinda thinks. Or paranoia. Someone trying to spread panic. Someone who has no idea what they’re talking about.

Elphaba is dead. Glinda knows this. She’s known it from the moment she heard the news. She felt it, standing there in the middle of her party, listening to the cheers rising from her crowd. Elphaba’s absence. Elphaba’s death.

How, though? She remembers, alone in the library one night, that she still doesn’t know. All those horrible rumors and stupid speculations, but no one knew the truth—when have they ever? No one was there.

Except—someone was. Someone who has tripped over himself trying to prove his loyalty to her.

She writes a note to General Lakree, inviting him to spend lunch with her. It takes a little longer than usual to find a servant to deliver it, but the response she eventually gets is embarrassingly eager.

It’s the first time she’s seen him since her first visit beneath the palace, and the first thing she notices is a fading bruise around his right eye.

“Training accident?” she asks him as they sit down together.

Lakree grins. “Something like that. You needn’t worry, Your Goodness. The offending party has been dealt with.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. By you, in fact.”

“I see.” She had wondered if he would get in trouble for the things he told her. But the bruise is clearly old, so she doesn’t think about it too much.

The servants who had been setting up their table all bow their heads and duck out. Glinda gestures for him to start eating and reaches for her glass.

“It was only to be expected,” Lakree says. “And really, at the end of it all, it’s a small price that I would gladly pay.”

She glances at him. “For what?”

“Progress,” he says.

Glinda takes a long drink and says nothing.

“Everyone can see it,” he goes on. “The changes you’ve made are astounding, and this entire nation is better for it.”

“I’m glad you agree.”

“I do, and so do many others. But with great progress always comes great criticism. It’s how you know you’re doing something right.”

Glinda sets her glass down. “I’m not afraid of my enemies, General.”

“No. I’ve heard the rumors. They should definitely be more afraid of you.” His smile widens. “They should all be afraid. Many already are.”

Glinda doesn’t bother asking what he means, and he digs into his food, clearly not feeling the need to explain himself. Besides, none of this is what she wants to know.

“I had a question for you,” she says. “You and your troops—you were the ones escorting Dorothy back.”

“We were, yes.”

“I wanted to know. What really happened, out in Kiamo Ko?”

Lakree pauses, looking thoughtfully at his plate. He carefully sets his silverware down.

“I have to confess, Your Goodness. I don’t actually know. None of us do. Dorothy and her companions were the only ones around the castle when it happened.”

“And she never told you what happened?”

“She was in hysterics when we found her.”

“What about her companions? What did they see?”

Lakree tilts his head. “They told us they’d been separated. Dorothy was the only one with the Witch when it happened.

“So you don’t know how she died?”

“She burned, Your Goodness. Other than that, I’m afraid I don’t know the details.”

So maybe it was that girl, Glinda thinks. That frail, quivering farm girl. Perhaps she didn’t deserve to be sent home to her family. Perhaps Glinda should have destroyed her as soon as she met her.

Lakree is still looking at her oddly. Glinda focuses her attention on him once more.

“It must seem like an odd question,” she tells him, “but it pays to know your enemy. Information is power.”

“Indeed, Your Goodness.” Lakree speaks slower, more precisely, than before. “Perhaps that’s why you do your job so well. You seem to know everyone’s secrets, and no one seems to know you.”

“You would be correct, General, and it’s going to stay that way.” Glinda rises to her feet. She’s bored with him now, and she has better things she can do with her time. “Now if you excuse me, I have other things to attend to. Please, continue to eat. And thank you for meeting with me.”

“Your Goodness, you haven’t touched your food.”

She pretends not to hear him. She’s already halfway out of the room, anyway.

-

Just as she predicted, the palace starts getting less visitors. As the novelty of a new leader wears off—and as the city gets colder, more bitter—the number of people coming through the front doors to seek an audience gets lower and lower. The ones who do come are quieter, too. Sometimes all they do is take her hand and, in hushed tones, thank her.

It takes her off guard, then, when a man comes screaming into the palace one afternoon.

It must take everyone else by surprise, too, because he manages to run through the entrance hall and all the corridors connecting it to the room where she receives visitors before any guards catch up to him. They storm into the room after the man, guns raised, but he takes no notice of them. He just scrambles over to where Glinda stands, tripping over himself in his hurry, and falls to his knees in front of her.

“Your Goodness!” he cries. “Your Goodness! Oh, Your Goodness!”

Glinda waves a hand at the guards. They lower their weapons, but none of them leave the room.

“Who are you?” she asks the man.

“No one, Your Goodness,” he cries, echoing through the room. “Especially not in your presence.”

Glinda frowns down at him. He’s completely bent over, head bowed to the floor. He hasn’t even looked at her.

“Why did you come here?” she asks.

A shiver runs through him. He presses his hands to the floor, knuckles turning white with pressure.

“To see you, Your Goodness,” he tells her. “To hear your voice, your command. I am yours to command.”

“But who _are _you?”

“No one but a believer. A servant for your terrible glory. Use me as you will, and I shall let nothing stand in the way of your works reaching across Oz.”

Glinda narrows her eyes. “Who sent you, then?”

“I came of my own accord. My own devotion. My own—”

“Came from where?”

“The cloister, Your Goodness. Your cloister—”

“I have no cloister.”

“—where the many gather out of wonder and awe to see how—”

Glinda waves to the closest guard, who hurries over.

“Take him to the shelter upstairs,” she says. “Make sure he’s warm and fed, and see if perhaps he can sleep this off.”

“Yes, Your Goodness.”

“But keep an eye on him,” Glinda adds. “Don’t let him go anywhere.”

“Yes, Your Goodness.”

The man is still rambling when the soldier grabs his arm and helps him to his feet. He keeps his eyes down, averted from Glinda’s gaze, and cries out to her with words she hardly understands. When he and the guard have left the room, Glinda beckons another servant over.

“Yes, Your Goodness?”

“Have we received word from the cloister recently? Anything at all?”

“No, Your Goodness.”

She frowns. “Tell the governors our afternoon meeting is cancelled. And have a carriage prepared.”

“Right away, Your Goodness.”

She hasn’t visited the cloister since before she moved into the palace, though she still sends her regular donations. She hasn’t even seen a maunt since her visit to her estate, and that woman didn’t say a word to her.

Nearly every guard who saw the man volunteers to escort her across the city, and Glinda doesn’t bother telling them it’s unnecessary. So they go, her and her entourage, to see what in Oz caused this man to be so worked up.

When they arrive at the Cloister of St. Glinda, she has to pause and look around to make sure they’re in the right place. The building, usually so empty, is overflowing with people. Garlands and bouquets have been placed in every possible nook and cranny she can see. Crowds press in, standing on their toes and craning their necks to see through the windows and doorways to the chapel within.

They part for her, though. As soon as someone recognizes her carriage, the sea of people steps away, staring in silenced awe as she and her group step down and head for the door.

There are even more people inside, though it remains just as quiet. Glinda has a moment to look at all of them—still pressing against each other, still placing flowers and other gifts anywhere they can fit them in the sanctuary—before someone notices her presence in here as well. Then all she can see is their stares, unblinking, taking her in as if they’ve never seen anything like her before.

“Your Goodness.”

Glinda turns to see the superior maunt making her way through the room.

“Come,” the old woman says. “Let’s get out of the crowd. If I’d known you were coming, I’d have made better arrangements.”

“It was a sudden decision,” says Glinda once they’re out of the chapel. “I received a visitor this morning. A man, out of his mind with zeal. He says he came from here.”

The maunt sighs, her shoulders slumping.

“Do you know who he is?” Glinda asks sharply.

“Not specifically, but I do know what you’re talking about. He’s not the only one here singing your praises—although I do apologize. I never imagined anyone would try to enter the palace to get to you.”

“What do you mean, he’s not the only one?”

The maunt gestures behind Glinda, toward the chapel they just left. “You saw them, Your Goodness. It’s been like this since your inauguration, when you sent that Dorothy girl home.”

“But why are they here?”

“To worship.” When Glinda doesn’t respond, the maunt just shrugs. “They come to see St. Glinda. They pray to her, or kneel at her statue to pay respects.”

“What do I have to do with it?” Glinda demands. “We share a name, that’s all.”

“That’s enough.”

“It’s a coincidence. Any sensible person would know that.”

The old woman shrugs again. “Many say that about the works of the Unnamed God himself, Your Goodness.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?” asks the maunt. “After all, who are we to argue against someone else’s miracle?”

“People with sense,” Glinda tells her. She brushes past the maunt, waving off her guards when they try to follow her, and heads through the cloister.

She needs some air. She can still feel the press of the crowd in the chapel. So mindless, so simple and pathetic—the reason why everything is so wrong in this world.

She heads, mindlessly, to the courtyard. She knows the way. There was a time when she scoured this place for Elphaba, too, but by then it was too late. She has always been just a little too late.

When she steps out into the courtyard, desperate for the fresh, freezing air, she sees more of them. Dozens of people, crowded around the gray statue of St. Glinda that stands in the middle. Some of them have their arms outstretched. Some have fallen to their knees in the dead grass.

None have noticed her yet, so Glinda quietly turns and goes back inside.

She sticks to the narrow side hallways that lead only to the infirmary or the maunts’ quarters. She doesn’t want to run into anyone else, and she certainly doesn’t want to return to that chapel full of people.

Her path takes her around a corner and to a dead end. Glinda pauses, frowning down the hallway. She had thought there was a staircase here, at the very least. Did she get turned around?

But something in the hall catches her eye, and she forgets trying to figure out where she is. It looks like a painting, but it’s covered in a plain sheet. Glinda moves closer and tugs at the fabric. A painting indeed. A familiar one, too—it used to hang in the chapel. Didn’t it? It’s larger than she remembers, but that might just be because it’s down, propped up against the wall in front of her, rather than hanging high somewhere.

She pulls the sheet again, revealing more of the canvas. Yes, this certainly used to hang in the chapel. Glinda recognizes the stoic face of St. Glinda, the fading colors on her gown.

What she doesn’t recognize, though, is the shadow that covers her feet. Glinda bends to inspect it, lifting the sheet further. The bottom of the frame has turned black as well—so, not a shadow. Glinda brushes her fingers against the painting, and they come back black with ash.

Which explains why it’s sitting here in the hallway rather than hanging in the crowded chapel. Glinda pushes herself back to her feet and lets the sheet fall over the painting again. It appears that not everyone coming to the cloister is here to worship its saint—or her namesake. The superior maunt would never tell her that.

Glinda decides not to bring it up, either. A little fire and black paint is nothing to worry about and besides, it could be a good way to see who on her staff is trying to hide information like this from her.

She supposes she’s been gone long enough. She’ll come back composed, calm about this new development. After all, what does it change? Let them worship her. It’s no different than the nonsense they usually preach and pray to.

Her guards are standing in the corridor where she left them, but the superior maunt is gone.

“She leaves her apologies, Your Goodness,” one of the soldiers says. “She had her duties to attend to. But she invites you to visit again soon, and perhaps you can talk more, then.”

“Of course,” says Glinda, with absolutely no intention of returning. “We’ll head back now. I have business of my own.”

“Yes, Your Goodness.”

They take another side hallway out, but that doesn’t keep them from the crowd gathered outside. Once again, they fall silent at the sight of her. Glinda ignores them all and climbs back into her carriage, but she can feel their eyes on her, even as she shuts the door and rides away.

-

With no Gale Force to keep an eye on, less visitors to greet, and far less resistance holding back the progress of her meetings, Glinda finds herself with much more free time than she cares to have.

She spends much of it at the top of her tower. No one can possibly see her up there, looking down over the city, and a little fire spell is usually enough to keep her warm. If she even needs it. A lot of the time, she just lets the cold hit her. There are worse things to deal with.

But there are also days when she can’t stand the thought of fresh air, and that’s when she travels down on the tower’s spiral staircase, to the hidden halls that connect her to the rest of the palace. She roams these, keeping her footsteps quiet, and she never once runs into another person.

She hears them, though.

She can hear the staff gossiping in the kitchen, or in their own passages outside the meeting rooms they just served lunch to. She hears soldiers mumbling to each other as they stand in the corners of the shelter on the second floor. She even hears politicians or other members of her board in their quarters, having a hushed discussion over a glass of something strong and dark.

She never hears a word against herself. If they mention her, it’s in a whisper. _Her Goodness _declared this. _Her Goodness _did that. _Glinda the Good_, they say, and she hears a lot of things, but she doesn’t hear criticism.

“Have you heard that man, upstairs in the throne room?” she hears one day, down near the kitchens.

“The one always crying and moaning about Her Goodness?”

“Yes, him. Who is he?”

“Who knows? They said he came from the cloister. They said people there are worshiping her.”

“Her Goodness? Or St. Glinda?”

There’s a non-committal response.

Another day, up by the guest quarters where an ambassador from Pertha Hills is staying, she hears one of her governors.

“And how are you enjoying your visit, sir?”

“I’m very much enjoying myself, though it’s different than the last time I was in the city.”

“Yes, we’ve seen quite a few changes recently.”

“What about your friend, the captain? Will he be joining us?”

Glinda pauses and takes half a step closer to the wall separating them.

“I’m afraid not. He keeps to himself a lot more these days.”

A chuckle. “Has he been put in his place?”

“Yes, extensively so.”

“I had wondered. There are so many rumors going around, you know.”

“I can only imagine.”

“Is it true she haunts that old prison?” asks the ambassador.

Glinda tilts her head.

“How should I know?” says the governor. “No one really knows what happened to it after Her Goodness shut down the Gale Force, other than its existence is common knowledge now.”

“Oh, come now. Surely you know something.”

“Well. We all know she doesn’t sleep at night.”

“No?”

“No. She wanders the halls. She’s been found at tables in the library in the early hours of the morning.”

“Perhaps she doesn’t need sleep.”

“Her Goodness is quite the wonder. It wouldn’t surprise me.”

-

The weeks pass. The only leaves in sight are the ones that have crumbled and blackened in the corners of the streets. The palace gardens are bare and dead. The temperature keeps dropping—the city becomes all but abandoned once the sun goes down—but there’s still no sign of snow.

Visitors to the palace have almost completely stopped, though many are still coming to seek shelter.

It’s one of these visitors who has the palace buzzing one bitter afternoon. Glinda knows someone interesting has arrived before she even sees them—a few of the servants scurry in and out of the room; some of the guards stand taller, their grips shifting on their weapons.

A figure appears in the doorway, and Glinda suddenly understands everyone’s restlessness.

The Cat pads silently into the room, her tail flicking disdainfully behind her. She must feel everyone’s eyes on her, but her head is high as she approaches Glinda. Behind her, a couple of the guards say something, grumbling, under their breath. She flicks an ear in their direction and keeps walking.

Glinda gives the guards a look, and they both snap to attention, falling silent. In fact, the entire room is silent now, leaving Glinda and her guest to regard each other. The Cat is tall but thin. Her smoky gray fur is dotted with scars, but the white that covers her chest and chin is spotless. When she reaches Glinda, she sits. Her tail curls around her front legs, and she waits.

Glinda glances around the staring room. “Well? Does this concern any of you?”

All of them avoid her gaze and get back to work, and slowly, noise fills the room again. Glinda turns back to the Cat.

“Who are you?”

“You’ll have to forgive me, Your Goodness. Names can be dangerous.”

Part of her left ear is missing, as is a patch of fur on one shoulder.

“Then what can I do for you?” Glinda asks. Because clearly she wants something, this dignified, battle-worn Animal. Surely, she’s here for a reason.

And surely, she got those scars from somewhere. Certainly, she’s seen some of the darker part of this city. Maybe—

She needs to know. Besides, the Cat’s eyes dart back and forth, and her hackles are still ever so slightly raised. Whatever she came here to say, she isn’t going to say it in front of all these people.

Glinda waves her hand, and around them the room starts to shimmer. The Cat tilts her head, her whiskers twitching, then looks at Glinda.

“They can’t hear us,” Glinda says. Then, because she can’t help herself, “You were in the resistance, weren’t you?”

The Cat looks surprised. “Why do you say that?”

Glinda shakes her head, waving the question aside. “There was a green girl. A witch. She worked with you.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, Your Goodness.”

“She was there,” Glinda insists. “With the resistance. She was there.”

The Cat slides back a step. She looks around, but no one in the room is paying them any attention.

“I’m sorry, Your Goodness,” she says, and at least she sounds like she means it. “There were many of us. We rarely knew anyone else outside our cells.”

It isn’t enough.

“But you _must _have known her!” Glinda cries, leaning forward. “A green witch—how secret can that be? And she was cynical, and reckless, and she probably kept to herself but she was tall and bony and had no filter when she spoke and she cackled when she laughed and—”

But, Glinda thinks suddenly, she didn’t laugh often. And never when Glinda wasn’t around. Nanny had told her that once, so long ago.

She slumps in her chair. The Cat stares at her, clearly unsure of what to do.

“Never mind,” Glinda sighs. She’s exhausted suddenly. Once this Cat is gone, she decides, she’ll retire to her chambers for the day. “Those days are behind us. I admire your bravery in coming here, and I apologize for interrupting you.”

“It’s no worry, Your Goodness.”

Glinda nods. “What can I do for you?”

The Cat sits again, her chest puffed out. “I came to ask a favor, Your Goodness, for me and for others like me.”

“Go on, then.”

“The people speak of your shelter. Normally we wouldn’t dare, but this winter is going to be brutal, you can already tell. We—”

“All are welcome here,” Glinda tells her. Is that really all? This resistance member, this survivor of a terrible and hidden war—all she wants is someplace warm to stay? “If anyone suggests otherwise, they’ll answer to me.”

The Cat grins and bows her head. “Thank you, Your Goodness. Thank you. From all of us, for everything you’ve done, thank you.”

Glinda waves her hand, dismissive again. “Go, collect your family. Tell the others.”

“Yes, Your Goodness. Thank you, Your Goodness.”

She twists and bounds away, back out of the room, and Glinda lowers her muffling spell and watches the Cat go. Perhaps she was telling the truth, and she didn’t know Elphie. Perhaps no one in this city did.

-

She’s at lunch with her governors one day when a soldier knocks on the door and, upon entering, bows low to her.

“Forgive the intrusion, Your Goodness.”

Glinda shakes her head. “No need. We’re just eating. What do you have to report?”

“There was…an incident, Your Goodness, at the Cloister of St. Glinda. A few soldiers are going to investigate, but the superior maunt asked for your presence as well.”

“What sort of incident?” When the soldier hesitates, she shakes her head and rises to her feet. “Nevermind. I’ll see when we get there.”

So, against her every intention, she finds herself back in her carriage and heading to the cloister.

The city has changed since the last time she rode through it. The streets are still mostly empty, and the people who do wander through them are still bundled tightly into their cloaks and scarves and hats. At first glance, everything is cold and silent and still.

But there’s something else. A few storefronts have colorful paper lanterns or strings of garland hanging in their windows. If she looks closely, she can see figurines of Lurline, or paintings of Ozma, or other small pagan symbols in the porches and doorways of the houses they pass.

Glinda leans back in her seat. She hasn’t seen a picture of Ozma since she was a little girl, and any mention of Lurline has been rarer and rarer the past few years. And now here she is, riding down a fully decorated street. She looks out the window again, wondering how it must look with the lanterns glowing at night.

There is still a crowd surrounding the outside of the cloister when they arrive. The soldiers have to ride ahead and clear a path before Glinda can step down from her carriage and head inside.

The superior maunt is waiting in the entryway to greet them. She looks paler than the last time Glinda saw her, and her eyes dart anxiously around every time they hear a voice or a footstep down one of the hallways.

“Your Goodness,” she says. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“Is everything alright?” asks Glinda.

“It’s—well, no one was hurt, so that’s something.”

Glinda frowns. “What happened?”

Behind them, through the front doors, they hear a cry rise up. Glinda makes out her name, barely. The maunt winces.

“Come. I can show you.”

Glinda is still frowning, but she follows the old woman further into the chapel. They stick to smaller hallways—ones that aren’t available to the public, Glinda notices—and soon she realizes where they’re going.

“It happened sometime in the night,” says the maunt. “We don’t know how, or who did it, but…”

They reach a door that leads into the courtyard. The maunt hesitates, but Glinda steps around her and pushes it open.

It’s empty. The ridiculous crowd from a few weeks before has vanished, and the only thing left in the courtyard is the statue of St. Glinda.

The _ruined _statue of St. Glinda.

The superior maunt is speaking behind her, but Glinda doesn’t hear. All she can see is the crumbled stone in front of her. Part of an arm is lying at the base, sitting with its rubble on the dead ground. She lifts her head to look at the rest of the statue. The entire left corner has been blown apart, from shoulder to breast. There are cracks, too, further down the statue’s torso and into her skirts. As if whoever attacked it got a few good swings in before successfully knocking off the arm.

Above, however, St. Glinda is untouched. Her face is as stoic as ever. Glinda meets her eyes, waiting to see something in them, but there’s nothing.

They don’t stay long. Glinda assigns a few soldiers to set up a patrol around the cloister at night, and the superior maunt thanks her profusely. When she leaves, the guards have to once again clear a path for her, but this time Glinda pays closer attention to the crowd. They all surge toward her. Some of them reach out as far as they can past her soldiers, desperate to touch her. She hears their shouts and cries, but there are too many to make out. She climbs into her carriage and sits quietly the entire way back to the palace.

The first thing she does when they return is send a messenger to cancel her meetings for the rest of the day. The second thing she does is walk away from all her soldiers, past her servants, and out of the entrance hall. No one follows her.

The Lurlinemas figurines. The broken statue. The silent people in the street. The maunt seeking her presence. It’s so much, and Glinda doesn’t know how to feel about any of it. She doesn’t know how to feel it at all.

It’s warm in the palace. And quiet, and stuffy, and it feels too much like nothing. Glinda remembers, months ago, coming across a little garden while exploring. She takes a sharp turn and heads toward it, tearing off her coat and leaving it in the hallway behind her. Once or twice, she hears voices ahead of her, but by the time she reaches them, everyone has disappeared.

But then, as she makes another abrupt turn, she suddenly finds herself in someone else’s presence. Glinda halts and stares. Down the hall, similarly frozen, is Marva.

She waits. Surely Marva will speak first. Whatever it is, Glinda probably doesn’t want to hear it, but she’ll still say it.

The hall remains silent.

Fine then. Glinda rolls her eyes and keeps walking. Marva stays perfectly still until—just as Glinda’s passing her—she lowers her head.

Glinda doesn’t dwell on it. Soon enough, she’s long gone, and she meets no one else in her path. The garden is empty, too, when she reaches it. Of course it is. No one in their right mind would linger outside in this weather.

But evergreen trees line the walkway, dark and inviting, and there’s a stone bench waiting for Glinda.

It’s the kind of thing Elphaba would have done, blowing up religious symbols. Even before she was an anonymous city vigilante, she spent many of her nights sneaking in and out of buildings, seeing what she could swipe or destroy. There was never proof that it was her, but Glinda always stayed up to see her sneak back into the dormitory, and she knew not all of those hours were spent studying.

Of course, after Dillamond’s death, Morrible became too menacing to get away with much of anything, and Elphaba’s nights were spent carefully toeing the line—not for her own sake, but for Glinda’s. Always for Glinda, until the moment she left.

_Morrible, _Glinda thinks. Elphaba isn’t here. It doesn’t benefit her in any way to think of her. But Morrible. Morrible, by some sick twist of fate, is still here.

Glinda waits in the garden. The temperature drops. The sun sets. The stars shine weakly above her, then fade behind a cover of clouds. Glinda sits, and shivers, and waits.

When it’s time, she has to take a minute to unfreeze and bend and rise to her feet. A deeper sort of stillness has fallen over the palace. It hits her as much as the warmth does, the moment she steps back inside. She’s the only soul awake in the entire building.

_Is it true she haunts that old prison?_

Glinda makes her way to the southwest tower. She sees no one, just her shadow dipping and stretching as she passes the flickering torches. When she reaches the hidden doorway, there’s no one on the stairs. When she unlocks the door and steps into the underground floor, there is no one. The two guards at the entrance to Southstairs stand so still, stare so gravely ahead, that they’re more statues than people. Neither of them react as she pushes open the heavy door between them and descends into the prison.

She remembers the way. She takes every turn without hesitation. There are no prisoners in the cells she passes. There’s just her, and the monster waiting for her at the end of this road.

When she reaches Morrible’s cell, she’s unsurprised to see the old woman looking even worse than before. She has bald patches now, where clumps of hair have fallen out. Her entire body trembles, and when she moves, she does it with infuriating slowness. But when she looks up at Glinda, her smile is the same smug, horrible grin it’s always been.

“Your Goodness,” she rasps. “What an honor.”

Glinda doesn’t sit down this time. She stays standing, glaring through the bars.

“You still won’t talk to me? I’m hurt.”

“What should I say?” Glinda asks. “What can I possibly say that you don’t already know?”

Morrible’s grin widens. “Me? I know nothing. Only rumors. They talk about you, you know. They’re always talking about you.”

“They talk about a lot of things. That’s what people do.”

“Oh, but they used to be so sympathetic! And who could blame them? With—” Morrible breaks off in a cough. It rattles through her, nearly knocking her over. When she sits back up, she has to take a few gasping breaths before she can continue. “With all that you’ve been through. Poor thing. Has it been hard, all this responsibility? All this pain?”

“What do you know of pain?”

“More than you think, dear. But perhaps not as much as you. You’ve lost so much, haven’t you? Your poor husband, too.”

Glinda grips the bars. “My poor husband,” she repeats through gritted teeth. Does Morrible suspect? Or does she also, like every other fool in this city, believe Glinda incapable of such a thing?

“But that’s not your greatest loss, is it?” asks Morrible. Glinda stares. “Well, go on, dear, tell me. It’s not good to keep these things to yourself.”

“They killed Nessa.” It’s out before Glinda even considers saying it. “They killed Elphie. But they’ll never touch me.”

Morrible coughs out a laugh. “And somehow, you’ve become exactly what they feared the Thropps were. Such delicious irony. I’m proud of you, dear. Truly.”

Glinda presses herself closer to the bars. “Did you bewitch us?”

“What, dear?”

“That day at the funeral,” Glinda snaps. “You brought us all in and spoke to us privately. Were you casting a spell on us?”

“If I did, it certainly backfired. Look at where we all ended up.”

Glinda shoves away. She paces, then turns sharply and comes back. “You killed Dillamond. You killed him, and you hexed Ama Clutch.”

“You already know this.”

“Did you hurt her?”

“Who?”

There’s a glint in her eye. A twist in her smile. Glinda shoves a hand through the bars and curls her fingers. Her knuckles stand out beneath her skin. Her entire arm shakes. The shriek Morrible gives bounces off the stone walls, pounding against Glinda’s ears.

She lowers her hand again and waits as Morrible doubles over, her awful, ragged breaths heaving in and out of her chest. When she’s quiet, Glinda asks again.

“Did you hurt her?”

“Directly?” Morrible’s voice is strained. “No. I never laid a hand on her.”

Yet she was still afraid. She still kept things from Glinda in a desperate bid to protect her. She still spent hours poring over research and laws and the slim chance that all the horror they’d faced wasn’t in vain. Morrible never laid a hand on her, but at the end of it all, Elphaba still left.

“It doesn’t matter,” Glinda breathes.

Morrible coughs, blood staining her lips. Glinda raises her hand again, and this time flames spark out of her palm and wrap around her fingers.

The air is moist down here, but the rags Morrible wears catch easily enough. She looks even worse in the fire. The fierce light casts shadows over her face, making her skin look waxy and stretched over her face. She screams again, but Glinda isn’t thinking about that.

Instead, she thinks about Elphaba. Elphaba, sneaking in and out of the library. Elphaba sitting at a table in a pub, scolding them all for speaking too loudly. Elphaba disappearing into the crowd.

Elphaba in this city, beneath it, fighting in the resistance. Flying across Oz. Screaming, screeching, burning in the path of a bucket of water.

“Burn,” Glinda whispers, and somehow, through the awful noise she’s making, Morrible hears her. “Burn, just like she did.”

It’s the smell that stops her, and by then Morrible is barely recognizable.

“Perhaps,” the old woman croaks, “I made a mistake. Perhaps…you should have been…our wicked witch.”

Glinda lowers herself. She kneels on the prison floor and ducks her head to look into her eyes. But she doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing to say.

She reaches out her hand. Morrible closes her eyes. There’s a quiet crack, and then Morrible slumps, falling sideways to the floor.

-

Glinda returns to her chambers, but she doesn’t head for her bed. Instead, she crosses the room and steps through the balcony doors. Perhaps it isn’t as late as she thinks—if she looks out and to the side, around the corner of the palace, she can just see the warm glow of lanterns. Easier to notice are the voices. Loud, merry, perhaps drunk.

Laughter rings out. Glinda grips the railing and leans forward, ears straining, but as free as this laugh is, it’s not the wild cackle she’s looking for.

She settles back down. Another voice cries out, perhaps calling to someone, and then she hears singing. Loud and off-key, but definitely singing. More laughter, and then other voices join in.

It’s a carol, she realizes. A Lurlinemas carol. She’s heard it before, but not for many years. Not since the night Crope dragged them all out to celebrate the end of exams. Elphaba and Glinda had snuck out and over the wall around Crage Hall, and they’d met the boys by the canal. Crope and Tibbett guided them through campus, arm in arm, already drunk off a skin of wine they kept in their dormitory. But their cheer was contagious, and as they sang and stumbled, the entire group couldn’t help but join in—even Elphaba, her voice so low near Glinda’s ear she knew it was meant only for her.

The singing fades. There are a few more cries, calling out to each other, and then Glinda hears the slamming of a door, and all is still again.

Something hits her hand, pricking against her skin. Glinda looks down, frowning, but she can’t see what it is. There’s a flash of something in the garden below her, near the lamp post. She focuses on that instead. There it is again, catching the light as it drifts to the ground.

It’s snowing.

Glinda tilts her head up. Yes. It’s coming down faster now, spiraling through the light and biting against her bare skin. She tries to rub away the cold, but stops when her fingers catch the black cloth tied around her arm. Frustrated, she drops her hands again and stares out at the garden below.

The first snow of the year. So peaceful. So pure. The city is so quiet, too, content to sit back and watch it happen.

Glinda can’t stand it. She turns her back on it all, and heads inside.


End file.
